Return of the Informer
by Sgt. Moffitt
Summary: Just when the Heroes thought they had seen the last of this guy...Winner of the 2012 Papa Bear Award for Best Story, and based on a suggestion provided by dust on the wind.
1. Lieutenant Wagner

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

For dust on the wind, who wondered about the many appearances of Noam Pitlik as various characters, both Allied and German.

* * *

><p>November 1942<br>Hammelburg, Germany, just outside Stalag 13

The young USAAC captain looked totally bewildered after I handed him my flight jacket and cap and wished him luck. Nothing unusual in that; for some reason the guys I switch places with are always bewildered.

They call me the outside man, but I'm really just a humble POW, moonlighting as an Army Intelligence agent. Or maybe it's the other way around. It's hard for me to keep that straight sometimes.

But that day I had good reason to feel satisfied with the way things were going. This latest arrival at Stalag 13 was the Travelers' Aid Society's 501st customer, and I was freed up for a few days to pursue my other job. I had received a cryptic message that the underground agent Max needed to meet with me, and I figured I could have a good meal at Max's, and maybe spend the night on his sofa before moving on to meet my contact in Schweinfurt.

So after I left the captain, I hiked through the woods until I reached Max's lonely cottage at the end of an almost-deserted lane. I went to the back door and tapped out the recognition signal on the door. A few moments elapsed before the door swung open and Max's worried face appeared.

I tried not to react with alarm. Max has one of those perpetually worried-looking faces, and I thought maybe he had a touch of indigestion right then as well. But then I spotted Oskar Schnitzer rising from an armchair in the tiny parlor, and I figured alarm was probably the appropriate response in this situation.

Oh, crap. Now what?

Max indicated the sofa with a gesture of his hand. I sat down and gratefully accepted the glass of schnapps Oskar poured out for me. I eyed Max, who sank down onto the chair opposite while Oskar resumed his seat.

"Okay, I can see something's wrong. What is it?" I looked from one to the other of the two serious faces before me.

Max cleared his throat. "It is about a defector."

I nodded. I'd met two so far, low-ranking _Heer_ officers both, and arranged for their escape to England. Not exactly earth-shaking, and probably of not much worth to the intelligence officers who ended up interrogating them, but I could always hope for a really big score this time.

"An _Oberst_?" I asked, anticipation quickening in me.

Max and Oskar shook their heads in unison. "_Nein."_

"Oh."

Max blew out a breath. "We might as well tell you the whole story right now. This is a _Leutnant _Wagner."

A lieutenant? Pretty small potatoes, for sure. Still...

Oskar took up the tale. "The same Wagner who infiltrated Stalag 13 last week."

I almost choked on my schnapps. "_What?_" I hadn't met the guy, of course, since I had been outside the wire during most of the time Wagner had spent at the camp. I had only caught a glimpse of him as he was dragged off by Luftwaffe officers, loudly protesting his innocence. And hadn't that Colonel Burkhalter said something about sending Wagner to the Eastern front?

I shook my head dazedly. "How on earth did he get in touch with you?"

Max and Oskar exchanged glances. Then Max said, "Perhaps it would be best if he spoke for himself."

"You mean he's _here?"_

"_Ja." _Max nodded to Oskar, who rose and went to the door that led to Max's bedroom.

He opened the door and out came Oskar's nephew Kurt, guarding the very same man I had last seen being dragged away in the compound at Stalag 13. It would be hard to mistake him: Wagner was a big guy, at least a couple of inches taller than my own six feet, with thick dark hair and a distinctive Roman nose. He was wearing handcuffs and a half-hopeful, half-wary expression.

I blinked. What happened to the zealot who had claimed that there was a subversive operation "so vast and so complicated as to stagger the imagination" under Stalag 13? He looked pretty meek right now.

I had Wagner take a seat and then I looked him over carefully. "How did you get here? I thought Burkhalter had you in custody."

Wagner sighed and looked down at the handcuffs. "I was taken to the hospital in Hammelburg and placed in the psychiatric ward. I guess I sounded a little crazy to the Luftwaffe officers."

Well, I couldn't argue with that. "You sounded a little crazy to me too."

"Well, nobody would believe me! I even started to doubt myself for a minute. Then, after I heard Colonel Burkhalter say something about the Eastern front, I decided maybe I should act as crazy as they thought I was. And after I was put in the psychiatric ward, I managed to escape." Wagner looked pleased with himself.

Max said, "One of the nurses at the hospital helped him. She has passed information to us before, and she believed him when he claimed to be unjustly held in the hospital because he wanted to defect."

Wagner smiled wistfully. "Gretchen...she had faith in me."

Oskar rolled his eyes. "She arranged for us to pick him up. Naturally, we were not as trusting as she was. But after interrogating him we have decided that perhaps Wagner may be of use to the Allied cause."

I nodded, but I had to wonder if their main purpose in contacting me was just to get the guy off their hands. And I guess I couldn't blame them.

"Back up for a minute," I said. "Wagner, you went to a lot of trouble to try to uncover a secret operation at Stalag 13. Why should I believe you when you say you want to defect now?"

The handcuffed man heaved a sigh. "I spent many years in America, you know. My mother and father emigrated when I was a boy. Then my father died, and my mother and I were left destitute. My mother's brother Heinz agreed to send us money, with the understanding that I would join him in his business in Frankfurt as soon as I finished college in the United States."

His eyes were somber as he looked at me. "My mother died during my second year of college, but I finished my course, and returned to Germany as promised in 1935. You have to understand, the Depression was at its worst. There were no job prospects for me in America. When I came to Germany, I was impressed by the spirit of the people, and this Hitler fellow seemed to have big ideas. I thought perhaps I had a future here."

"You started working for your uncle?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid I have no head for business. I proved a disappointment to him, and it was a relief to both of us when I was conscripted into the army."

"And how did that work out for you?" I was curious, in spite of myself.

Wagner shook his head sadly. "Not well. In basic training all of the other soldiers requested to be reassigned because they said I brought bad luck. Just because there was that slight problem with my rifle one day...anyway, after the drill instructor got out of the hospital, he had me transferred to an intelligence unit." He sighed again. "I was content to be there. I didn't have too much responsibility; for years I did the same thing over and over, just spent most of my time translating American newspapers and writing up abstracts for the High Command. Then, one day..." he paused, remembering.

"Yes?" I prompted him. This guy was turning out to be awfully long-winded, and I was tired and hungry.

"One day Colonel Burkhalter came to my office. He had heard that I grew up in America and he wanted to use me for this plan he had in mind. He wanted to have someone planted in a prisoner of war camp to report on the secret activities of the Allied prisoners." Wagner stopped abruptly.

"And then?"

"What could I do? I don't think Colonel Burkhalter likes to have people disagreeing with him, so I agreed to the plan. After I got to Stalag 13, I pretended to be a downed American flier, just as I had been instructed. And the prisoners believed me! At least they pretended to believe me..." Wagner frowned for a moment and I waited for him to continue.

He took a deep breath and began to speak more quickly. "I was shown this incredible tunnel system, where the prisoners were counterfeiting money and making fake Lugers and having manicures, and who knows what else? I gathered as much evidence as I could, but the next day when Colonel Burkhalter came and I tried to show him everything, I realized that Colonel Hogan had fooled me. I couldn't show Colonel Burkhalter the tunnel entrance, or any counterfeit money, and I almost blew his head off with a Luger that I thought was fake..." his voice trailed off, and to my horror, I saw a tear begin to trickle down his cheek.

Wagner snuffled a bit, and rubbed at his nose with one of his sleeves, hampered somewhat by the handcuffs. "I realized that I had failed again, just as I had in Onkel Heinz's business, and at boot camp. And I saw that I had been living in a fool's paradise for years in my nice, safe, boring job in the intelligence service. The Reich does not tolerate failure, and I had failed. If I went to the Eastern front I would be a dead man. So I knew the only way out for me was to throw myself on the mercy of the Allies."

I stared at him with an unwilling sense of pity. This was certainly not a case of a high-value defector, and I seriously doubted if Wagner had any useful information at all to share with the Allies. Still, my superiors might want to talk to the guy anyway...

"I can't promise you anything," I told Wagner. "But I'll try."

"_Danke_." Wagner looked at me with humble gratitude. "You know, that Hitler fellow's ideas are big, but they're not very good ideas. I just never had the nerve to admit it before."

Max nodded to Kurt, who took Wagner back into the bedroom and closed the door. Then he turned to me and smiled wryly. "I am sorry to push this problem onto your shoulders, John."

I shrugged. "He's not your problem, and he's not my problem. He's about to become my boss's problem."

Max and I went to the bureau that stood against the wall of the parlor and pushed it aside to reveal the shortwave radio. I switched it on and put the headphones over my ears. As I tuned it in to the secret frequency, I wondered how I was going to present Wagner's case to my boss in Army Intelligence. A hissing of static interrupted my thoughts and I picked up the microphone.

"This is Prince Charming, calling Old King Cole. Come in, Old King Cole."

After a moment the voice of my superior was audible through the headphones. "Old King Cole here, reading you loud and clear, Prince Charming."

"Sir, I have a defector here, seeking asylum in England."

"An _Oberst_?" the voice asked hopefully.

"No, sir, a _Leutnant._ He was actually a German plant at my POW camp, and got found out. His handlers weren't any too pleased, and he figures his only chance of survival is to turn to the Allies."

"Oh." There was a pause, and I waited patiently.

Then my superior spoke again. "I expect this fellow knows more than he should about that POW camp of yours."

"Affirmative, sir."

"Can't leave him at large in Germany, in any event." There was another pause, and then what sounded like a chuckle. "Those fellows in the OSS might be interested in him. If that doesn't work out, well, there are POW camps in England too."

"Yes, sir."

"I will arrange to have the sub pick him up tomorrow night, at the usual point. Can you have him there?"

"Yes, sir, I think the underground will be happy to get rid of...I mean, I think the underground will be happy to deliver him."

"Good. Over and out."

I switched off the set and turned to Max and Oskar, who had been listening intently.

"Your people will take him?" Oskar asked.

I nodded. "Can you arrange for him to be taken to the sub?"

Max smiled slightly. "With pleasure, my friend. I am glad we are able to turn him over, as I am afraid our colleagues in the underground would probably have arranged for his demise."

Oskar sighed. "Unfortunately. To tell you the truth, the fellow seems rather harmless, despite what he tried to do at Stalag 13. I believe he is sincere in his wish to defect."

"Well, best to keep him under guard, in the meantime," I warned.

"Of course," said Max. "Do not worry; we will have him safely at the sub tomorrow night."

...

Two days later, I was riding in the back of Oskar Schnitzer's dog truck on my way back to Stalag 13. As I neared the camp, I pondered the Wagner situation and decided that Colonel Hogan needed to know of Wagner's defection. Whether my boss at Army Intelligence would agree, I had no idea. Of course, I hadn't exactly asked him either, but hey, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?

The truck eventually came to a stop, and I listened for the taps on the side panel of the truck that would indicate it was safe to get out. The dogs on either side of me seemed to sense the need for silence and were waiting as quietly as I was, although Hildegard insisted on licking my face.

The taps sounded and then the door opened. Oskar appeared in the opening and he took the dogs out one by one. As soon as the last dog was out, the young captain I had met briefly a couple of days previously - now dressed as a German civilian and breathless with excitement - climbed in.

I said, "Good luck, buddy," jumped out and immediately made for the tunnel opening under one of the doghouses in the kennel. LeBeau was gesturing to me urgently and lowered the doghouse back down again as soon as I was safely in the tunnel.

"Welcome home, _mon ami,_" LeBeau smiled as soon as the two of us had descended the ladder. "I have a surprise for you!"

He led the way down the tunnel and stopped at one of the side tunnels, then stepped back and gestured dramatically. _"Voilà!"_

I peered into the depths of the tunnel and grinned. "Looks like you guys finished the tunnel to the woods!"

"_Oui._ For emergency use only, you understand."

"Yeah, but what a relief to know it's there." I glanced toward the tunnel leading to Barracks 2. "Colonel Hogan up top?"

"_Non, _he is in the radio room."

"Okay, I'll go see him now. See you later, Louis."

LeBeau patted me on the shoulder and headed back down the tunnel.

I went in the opposite direction and was soon in the radio room. I was relieved to find the Colonel alone, looking through some surveillance photographs.

Colonel Hogan looked up. "Well, the prodigal returns! _Die_ _Fräulein_ decided to let you come home, Olsen?"

I smiled wryly at the old joke. I have to admit my love life isn't nearly as exciting as the guys like to make it sound. "Yes, sir. But I have a bit of news for you that I think you should know."

His brows shot up. "Sounds serious. Go ahead, let me hear the worst."

"Well, sir, it's about Wagner. You know, the informer you had here last week."

"What about him? Thought Burkhalter sent him to the Eastern front."

"He never made it there. Got sent to the hospital and one of the nurses helped him to escape to an underground safe house."

The Colonel stared at me, unbelieving. "The underground! Why the hell would they go along with that?"

"He wants to defect, sir. And I believe him."

"You _believe_ him! You saw him?"

"Yes, sir. Max and Oskar were keeping him under guard at Max's place. I talked with him there, and I gotta say, he doesn't seem like a hardened Nazi." I thought about this for a moment and then went on, "Actually, he seems to be more of a typical milquetoast clerk type. This was his first undercover job and he screwed it up. I guess he's got kind of a habit of doing that - screwing up, I mean."

"So what did you end up doing with him?"

"Well, obviously the underground didn't want him on their hands, and I didn't want him on _my _hands, and when I contacted my boss he didn't want him on _his_ hands either. But he figured it wasn't safe to leave Wagner in Germany, so he arranged for the sub to pick him up. I gather that he's going to be dumped in the OSS's lap."

Colonel Hogan shook his head. "Good luck to them. All I know is, I am extremely happy to know we'll never have to set eyes on him again."

I chuckled. "Amen to that."

Of course, little did we know...


	2. Captain Morgan

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

Wagner hadn't planned on returning to Stalag 13, but...

Missing scenes from "Everybody Loves a Snowman".

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><p>I'm really not cut out for that sort of thing.<p>

But still, there I was, undercover in the heart of Germany once again. And once again, things had gone terribly wrong.

I shivered as I watched the others huddled in the deserted barn. It had been more than two days and we were all exhausted, cold, and hungry. The emergency rations we all carried were almost gone, and it was obvious to me that we were now in desperate straits.

Even worse, the bombardier, Lieutenant Rosen, had decided to appoint himself leader of the little group. That would have been fine with me, but the man was an aggressive idiot and probably would get us all killed.

And added to that, he was the man I had been assigned to watch.

We had been separated from the rest of the crew during the bailout, and even though everyone assumed I was the captain I claimed to be, I had only been an observer during the mission, and the others apparently didn't expect me to take the leadership role.

And they weren't far off. I'm no leader; I'm a glorified clerk, for God's sake. I'm not a captain. I'm not even in the United States Army Air Force. And my commission as _Leutnant _in the German army had been given purely for bureaucratic reasons, not because I showed any promise as a commander.

But someone had to get us out of this, and as the ostensibly ranking officer and someone who actually spoke the language of the country, I realized it had to be me.

_..._

It had been Milliken's bright idea to assign me to a bomber mission. One day he walked into the dreary little room where I was translating some newly decoded messages.

"Listen, Wagner, I've come to the conclusion that you're wasted here just translating documents and assisting with interrogations. I want you out in the field gathering information."

I listened to my OSS superior with a sinking heart. That was what Burkhalter had thought, and look how that had turned out! I was bound to screw it up, whatever Milliken had in mind.

And I really didn't want to return to Germany. Much better to be in London, doing my nice, safe, boring desk job.

At least, as safe as one can be when one works by day in an underground bunker and sleeps by night in an underground railway station. The blitz, thank God, was no longer at its peak, but my countrymen still seemed to feel the need to terrorize the British public. I would perhaps have been safer in a POW camp. _Any _POW camp.

Truly, though, the bombing did not bother me all that much. I had experienced British and American bombing in Germany, and I accepted it all as part of war.

But it was meeting German prisoners of war that really opened my eyes. While the OSS was deciding what to do with me, I spent my first few weeks in England assisting the British with interrogations of German prisoners. Britain had a very efficient screening process to sift the Nazis from the run-of-the-mill German soldiers, and those rabid extremists made me very angry, and ashamed, that Germany had allowed herself to be ruled according to their dictates.

When had national pride become a sense of superiority to every other human being on the planet? When had love of country become an unreasoning hatred of those who did not meet the supposed Aryan ideal?

It was true that initially I had sought out the Allies in an effort to save my own skin, but I quickly realized that assisting the Alllies was the best way I could help to free the land of my birth from the Nazi rule. So it was no wonder that I worked as hard as I could, in my own quiet way, for the Allied cause.

But it appeared that my superior had more ambitious plans for me. I sighed and waited for him to continue.

"Yes, I have a few ideas about your future work with the OSS," said Milliken. "But first off, I have a concern with possible infiltration of our bomber squadrons by German ringers. And I have a feeling you can help us out there."

"Me, sir?"

"Who better to spot a fellow countryman? I'll have you go along on a few missions as an observer, and you can report your impressions back to me."

I protested weakly, feeling that my track record did not bode well for this assignment. But Milliken was insistent, and somehow I found myself provided with a new identity as Captain Morgan, USAAF.

The focus of my first assignment was a Lieutenant Rosen, a bombardier attached to the 242nd Bomb Group. I had an opportunity to meet with him and the entire crew prior to the mission, and I introduced myself as an observer. They were all friendly and accepting enough, and frighteningly businesslike once the mission was underway.

Once in the air, though, communication was possible only by intercom, and I had plenty of opportunity to reflect that observation of a man located in a different part of the bomber was impossible. So much for spotting a plant...I hung on tight and prayed for a safe return to British soil.

But after Rosen had dropped our payload over Schweinfurt and we were headed back, heavy anti-aircraft fire caught our plane, and to my horror we were ordered to bail out.

...

And now here we were, hungry and freezing, and, I believed, somewhere not far from Hammelburg. I had to do something. After two and a half days, the men were starting to get ugly. And Rosen was the ugliest of them all.

Normally, I am rather a meek, inoffensive sort of fellow. Mild-mannered, even. But I am also well over six feet tall, and my unfortunate nose gives me a very fierce appearance.

So I summoned up all my courage, and a bold, aggressive personality that I don't possess, and looked each of them in the eye.

"We can't stay here. We will move out, now, and see if we can get assistance."

They all protested, but I was adamant; staying put was not an option. So we all ventured out into the snow again. Fortunately my estimation of our position was accurate, and after about half an hour I recognized the Hammelburg road. And soon I spotted the obscure lane that led off it, almost hidden in the pines. I knew this would take me to the cottage of Max, the underground agent who had gotten me out of Germany.

I didn't think he would be particularly happy to see me, of course, but he had helped me before, and I was sure he would not allow these Allied fliers to die out here in the cold.

I had the men hole up in yet another barn and I approached the cottage alone, hoping desperately that the underground agent was home.

Max must have spotted me through the swirling snow because the front door flew open as I came near. He took in my appearance as an Allied flier and then gasped as he recognized my face.

It's this nose of mine. I figured Max would know me right away.

Max found his voice. "Wagner! What are you doing here?"

"I'm with an Allied air crew. We got shot down almost three days ago; we're cold, and hungry, and we need help."

Max shook his head, and then opened the door wide to allow me to enter. He bustled into his kitchen and swiftly filled a bag with bread, cheese, and sausage. He looked up at me as he worked. "I am sorry that I cannot accommodate you here, but it is too dangerous. You must take them to Stalag 13."

Dismayed, I stammered, "Stalag 13!"

Max looked at me sternly. "You, of all people, must know why they have to be taken there. They must be hidden until they can be outfitted for the journey to the coast. And it sounds as though you must lose no time."

"Yes. Yes, of course. But when Colonel Hogan sees me - "

Max shoved the laden bag into my arms and ushered me to the door. "You can explain it to him once you get the crew safely into the tunnels. Now, there is a rendezvous point due west of here, about a mile and a half right over that ridge, see? I will contact Hogan's men and have them meet you there. Now hurry!"

I clutched the bag to my chest and thanked my reluctant host, and then headed back toward the barn where four cold and hungry airmen waited for me.

They fell on the food with cries of joy, and while we ate, I told them that the underground had arranged for us to meet with people about a mile distant who would take us to warmth and safety.

But I didn't think I'd better tell them exactly where we were going; I had a feeling they might not go along with the idea of taking refuge in a POW camp. And I thought I'd better pretend I didn't know it was a POW camp either.

"You sure about this, Captain?" Rosen said, with a challenging tone.

"As sure as I can be. Let's face it, guys, we don't have a choice. Done eating? Then let's get going." I added a couple of four-letter words for good measure, and we went back out into the cold.

The five of us trudged through the snow in the deepening twilight. I urged the others along, fearful of missing the rendezvous point in the darkness.

Fortunately, we were spotted by two of Hogan's men. I recognized them both right away as occupants of Barracks 2, and I was glad when they didn't seem to recognize me. But as they were frantically trying to find the tree stump concealing the tunnel entrance, it was apparent they had no time to be worried about the identities of the crew they were trying to rescue.

Eventually the entrance was found and swept free of the snow covering it, and we started descending a crude ladder into a tunnel. I was amazed; the tunnel system had been impressive enough before, but for them to have an entrance outside the wire now boggled the mind. But since it had saved our lives, I wasn't about to question it.

We were hurried along the corridor until another ladder was reached, and I started to feel an overwhelming sense of panic.

Dear God, this was the last place on earth I wanted to end up. These guys at Stalag 13 would probably lynch me when they realized that I had been here previously as an informer for the Third Reich. But what else could I have done? I had to get these crew members to safety! I braced myself, expecting the worst.

I climbed up the ladder and immediately found myself face to face with Colonel Hogan. I shivered inside as I saw his eyes widen in recognition.

Then, without missing a beat, he reached out and shook my hand. "Welcome to Stalag 13. I'm Colonel Hogan."

I gulped and replied, "Captain Morgan."

...

Much later, in his quarters, Colonel Hogan folded his arms and regarded me as though I were an errant schoolboy. "Wagner, I should shoot you right now and be done with it, for all the trouble you put us to - and the danger you put us in - the last time you visited our happy little home. But Olsen told me of your decision to defect, and I know you're with the OSS now; I just had Kinch verify it with London."

I let out a breath, relieved; at least the Colonel knew I was on his side. I told him a little about my work with the OSS, and then I said, "But I have to explain why I'm here. That crew I brought here: they think I was just an observer on their mission; they don't know that I was there to uncover a possible German plant."

The Colonel's brows went up. "How ironic."

"Yes, sir." I was embarrassed, but I continued doggedly, "We ran into heavy ack-ack over Schweinfurt and barely made it this far before we all had to bail out. I rounded up four of the crew - not sure where the others ended up - and managed to find Max's house, and you know the rest."

"Yeah." Colonel Hogan eyed me speculatively and said, "You don't seem to have much luck with your assignments, do you?"

I sighed. "No, sir."

He frowned, apparently deep in thought. "Who's the guy you suspect?"

"Sir?"

"The plant," he said patiently.

"Oh!" I said. "Yes, of course. Lieutenant Rosen, sir."

The Colonel nodded. "Ah, yes. The one who's been almost as obnoxious as you have today."

"But I had to act aggressively, sir," I protested. "You must understand, I was only supposed to be an observer! I don't really have any authority over these men, and it looked like Rosen was going to take charge of the situation while we were out there in the cold, and if he really is a plant..."

"Then the others were as good as dead."

"Yes."

"I see. Well, carry on with the obnoxious behavior, if it helps you keep your crew out of trouble. But try not to overdo it, okay?" Colonel Hogan gave me a look of exasperation. "I need to maintain a little respect here too, and remember, I outrank you."

"Yes, sir," I said humbly. "I'll try to remember."

"And I'll have my guys keep an eye on Rosen, as well."

"Thank you, sir."

...

The next few days were very difficult for my adopted crew and myself, due to the unexpected appearance of a Gestapo major and his troops, and the subsequent inability of Colonel Hogan's team to access the tunnels. We found ourselves shuffled to another barracks, and Hogan's men were hard put to keep us concealed.

This caused Rosen and the others great alarm, and I was only able to stave off an impending mutiny among my crew by assuming the role of chief mutineer and deflecting the wrath of the Colonel onto myself. And somehow the agitated airmen were brought back into line, after Colonel Hogan promised us that a new tunnel would be dug.

And, unbelievably, the Colonel's men did indeed dig a new tunnel, successfully hidden by a snowman - a _snowman!_ - and we were able to hide out safely underground until the Gestapo major and his men departed.

Finally, Colonel Hogan deemed it safe for us to make our escape to England. We had all been outfitted with civilian clothing, money, and food, as well as necessary papers.

The Colonel met with me privately for a final briefing prior to our departure. He told me of the point where we would be taken to the sub, and the underground contacts we would be meeting on the way there. It was fairly straightforward, but I had a lingering concern.

"Sir, what about Rosen?" I asked.

He glanced at me, his eyes twinkling. "Keep an eye on him by all means, but I think you can forget about Rosen being a plant."

"I can?"

"I had the guys interrogate him discreetly, but thoroughly. He checks out."

"You're sure?" I looked at him anxiously.

Colonel Hogan grinned. "Hey, we figured _you _out, didn't we?"

I was abashed. "Yes, sir."

"He's a jerk, all right, but he's one of _our _jerks. Now, you've got your papers and travel permits, and with you taking the lead, these guys will make it to the coast, no problem. Just keep up that belligerent yet masterful attitude, and you'll keep them all in line."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Colonel."

"No problem. Good luck! And, one more thing..."

"Yes, sir?"

He fixed a stern eye on me. "Do me a favor. When you get back to England, stick to that nice, safe, boring desk job, okay?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

And I really had every intention of doing that...


	3. Major Lutz

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

When Wagner reluctantly returns to Germany, will he find love as well as adventure?

Missing scenes from "Klink vs. the Gonculator". A few lines of dialogue from the episode are included.

* * *

><p>London, 1943<p>

James Blanchard smiled with quiet satisfaction as he looked around the crowded and busy room. His men were currently working on documents lately captured from a hapless _Afrikakorps _courier, and there was a murmur of excited voices as new items came to light.

The intelligence chief reflected that it was fortunate that Milliken had agreed to loan him an interpreter who was also knowledgeable in radio communications. And Wagner certainly seemed to know his way around a circuit schematic.

A door opened behind him and Blanchard turned to see Milliken entering the room.

He walked up to his colleague and reached out to shake his hand. "Welcome to the dungeon, Bill. We're making great strides today, thanks to Wagner. I can't thank you enough."

Milliken nodded. "Glad to help."

"He's a good man. Educated in the United States, I understand."

"MIT," Milliken said absently. "Studied electrical engineering."

Blanchard was about to reply, but Milliken was smiling a slow, thoughtful smile; one that, from Blanchard's experience, boded ill for someone. And as he glanced across the room, he noticed Wagner raise his head as if sensing something. Wagner's eyes widened and he stiffened as he took note of his superior's arrival; Blanchard thought Wagner's demeanor seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Then it came to him. The poor guy looked just like a deer caught in the headlights.

...

In Milliken's office, Wagner sat patiently, expecting the blow to fall any minute. He didn't have long to wait.

"Wagner, I know your last field assignment didn't go exactly as planned, but you performed well under extreme conditions and those four airmen owe their lives to you."

Milliken cleared his throat and then went on, "Since you seem to be able to move about Germany without exciting undue suspicion, I think it's time we put you in a deep cover operation."

Wagner felt his blood run cold and was about to protest when Milliken continued, much like the steamroller his colleagues in the OSS likened him to.

"And since you have an engineering background, I'm sure this particular assignment will be of interest to you." He selected a sheet of paper from the scattered array on his desk and looked up at Wagner. "There is a rocket production facility not far from Hammelburg. Our information has it that this facility is self-contained for security's sake. All of the components are produced and assembled on site, so it's a potential gold mine of information for us, _if_ we can get a man inside."

Hammelburg! Wagner was conscious of a feeling of impending doom, but he tried to maintain an expression of polite attention.

His superior went on, "This is a new facility, and they had a quality control officer who was to have arrived next week. Unfortunately for him, he is now being held at our interrogation center at Trent Park. Fortunately for us, we have the ideal person for his replacement."

"Me," said Wagner, resigned to the inevitable.

"That's right! As quality control officer, you will be responsible for monitoring the entire process from design to production, assembly, and installation. This will give you access to all of the key components of the rockets."

"But..."

"You will need security clearance, of course. We'll have you meet with an Abwehr officer in Berlin before you go to Hammelburg - "

"Abwehr!"

"Relax," Milliken said with an indulgent smile. "He's one of ours: Major Hans Teppel. After you meet with him, you will go directly to the rocket facility. From that point, to maintain your cover, all contact with us will be made solely through the German underground."

Wagner knew his expression must be reflecting his deep unease, but Milliken plowed on regardless. "I have your new identity papers right here in this dossier, along with your orders for your assignment there. You will be Karl Friedrich Lutz, major in the German army. Born in Stuttgart, educated in Munich."

Wagner looked down at the folder containing the vital documents. Neatly printed on the cover was his new identity:

MAJOR K. LUTZ

It figures, he thought glumly.

...

Hammelburg, Germany, a few months later

Lila Fenster had been with the underground for over a year now, and she knew the risks. And one of the things she knew to avoid was becoming emotionally involved with one of her contacts.

That had not been difficult, as her contacts, with the exception of Papa Bear, tended to be elderly gentlemen who were fiercely opposed to Hitler's regime. But a few months ago London had assigned her a new contact, an Army officer working at the nearby hush-hush rocket production facility.

And she had fallen helplessly in love.

It wasn't that he could be considered classically handsome, with that forbidding hawk-like profile. No, it was the glow in his eyes when he caught sight of her, and the shy smile that he kept for her alone.

And when he took her in his arms, even though she knew it was to maintain their cover as lovers meeting secretly, she liked to imagine his ardent kisses were for her, Lila, not for an anonymous underground agent.

Every Tuesday evening for months she had met with him at the Hofbrau in Hammelburg. Sometimes he had information for her, or even samples of the components being manufactured at the facility, to be passed on through the underground. Sometimes he had nothing new to offer, but they met just the same to maintain the pretense of a weekly lovers' assignation.

It was extraordinarily dangerous work for both of them, but she still eagerly anticipated meeting him every Tuesday.

This week she was a few minutes late, and as she entered the Hofbrau her eyes went immediately to the table where he awaited her.

His face was serious and even a little sad as he sat at the little table, his hands restlessly turning the little candle in its holder around and around. Then he spotted her and he jumped to his feet, his eyes alight.

Surely he must care for her as well...

But in between rapturous kisses she was all business. Had he anything new for her? As it turned out he did, but the homing device he had in his possession had been taken from a model that was due to be tested Saturday, and it would be missed if he did not return it to the rocket by then.

Worse, he, like all the men in his department, was being closely followed by the Gestapo. He whispered this in her ear as he directed her attention to the bar, and she gasped involuntarily when she saw the man in black seated there.

The man she loved needed the underground to get him - and the homing device - out of Germany. Lila looked into his eyes and promised him she would meet with one of her contacts to try to make this happen.

He embraced her one last time, and then, to her surprise, he said diffidently, "_Fräulein _Fenster, I've been meaning to ask you...what is your first name?"

"Lila," she replied, thinking that she knew him only as Major Lutz, and she was fairly certain that was not his real name.

"Lila," he murmured. "That's a pretty name."

They parted at the door of the Hofbrau and Lila watched as her Major Lutz strode off down the street. Following him at some distance, for all the world like a circling vulture, was the man in black.

Lila shivered and headed in the opposite direction. She had a Papa Bear to meet.

...

In the tunnels under Stalag 13, Colonel Hogan listened as the pretty young underground agent pleaded her case. He was not familiar with this Major Lutz, and, strictly speaking, Lutz's safety was not his concern, but Lila's impassioned pleading was having its effect. Plus, the Major apparently had a very important item to deliver to the Allies.

So to evade his Gestapo shadow, Major Lutz would need to be brought into camp somehow and enabled to escape through the tunnels.

Hogan promised his help, although he didn't have the faintest idea - yet - how he was going to fulfill that promise.

But true to his word, Hogan hatched a plan. He determined that he would use Klink to summon Major Lutz, the electronics expert, to Stalag 13. But how could he induce Klink to do that?

On the spur of the moment, he and his men managed to convince Schultz that a rabbit trap Carter had constructed was actually a secret device known as a gonculator.

Schultz, having no idea what a gonculator might be, but unwilling to admit his ignorance, dutifully reported the presence of the gonculator to Colonel Klink. Klink, who in turn didn't want to admit _he_ didn't know what a gonculator was, arranged for General Burkhalter to come to the stalag to see the device.

Of course, Burkhalter would never admit _his_ ignorance of gonculators either, so he was intensely interested in what Hogan and his men had built. He and Klink studied the device, which the Heroes had carefully left for them to find in the barracks. They decided to have Schultz spy on the barracks to see if Hogan would make the thing fully operational.

Hogan had carefully primed Klink earlier with a mention of Major Lutz, the electronics expert, so when Schultz reported to Burkhalter and Klink that Hogan required the "Lutz diagram" to complete the gonculator, Burkhalter detemined that Major Lutz should be brought to Stalag 13 forthwith.

...

The next day, Carter was watching out the barracks window for new arrivals to the camp. Sure enough, a staff car pulled up outside the Kommandantur and two men got out.

Carter said, "Looks like that Major Lutz is here, Colonel. And he's got the Gestapo watching him all right. But..."

"What?" Hogan came over to the window. And he saw it too.

"Oh, my God. Major Lutz is here...and he's _Wagner_."

"_Our_ Wagner?"

The others crowded around the window.

"Thought 'e was in jolly old England. We haven't heard from 'im in months," said Newkirk, jostling Carter aside to get a better look.

"Months that he's apparently spent less than five miles away, gathering information for the Allies." Hogan shook his head. "With his luck, I'm amazed he's avoided the Gestapo until now."

He looked around at his men. "But this doesn't change the plan. He's in danger, and he's got a homing device that the Allies want, and we're going to get him safely out of Germany. Again."

...

Meanwhile, in Kommandant Klink's office, a very uneasy Wagner tried to maintain a semblance of calm. It had been months, after all, and neither Burkhalter nor Klink seemed to remember the informer they had placed in Stalag 13. But he stooped slightly to disguise his height, used a faint Saxony accent and pitched his voice slightly higher than normal, and hoped - desperately - for the best.

He had no idea why he had been summoned to Stalag 13. There were other men at the rocket facility with greater technical expertise than he; Dr. Braun, for example, who was developing something called a flux capacitor, whatever that was.

And of course, the last thing Wagner had wanted to do during this assignment was to visit the stalag again.

He trembled inside, realizing that he had brought the Gestapo into camp, thus endangering Hogan's entire operation. But he had no choice but to follow Burkhalter and Klink to Barracks 2 to give his expert opinion on the device Hogan and his men had built - a gonculator, whatever _that_ was.

In the barracks the gonculator sat atop the common room table and Wagner stared at it in confusion. It looked like a crude wooden box with various radio parts and a light bulb attached in haphazard fashion. He couldn't imagine why Hogan and his men had built it, or why Klink and Burkhalter considered it important.

Klink said triumphantly, "There is your gonculator!"

"It's not a gonculator!" Hogan protested. "It's a toy I made for my little niece Lila."

At the mention of her name, Wagner's head snapped up and he stared at Hogan intently.

"Now, don't bother Major Lutz!" Klink ordered.

Hogan said, "But I promised Lila I'd send it to her in England," as he unobtrusively placed his hand on the power cord of the gonculator and tapped it with his fingers.

Noting this, Wagner suddenly realized what was going on. Hogan must be the contact Lila had mentioned! Somehow Hogan had managed to get him summoned to camp so he could escape, as so many Allied fliers had been assisted to escape from this very barracks.

And this - gonculator - was the key to Hogan's plan. Best to play along.

The weight of the world seemed to fall from Wagner's shoulders, and he assumed the air of technical competence he had used successfully for the past few months. Walking around the table supporting the absurd device, he coolly agreed with Burkhalter that Hogan's gonculator was definitely inferior to German gonculators.

But he remarked that the object was still quite interesting, and had Schultz plug it in. Wagner flipped the switch and stepped back, not sure what to expect.

What happened was a beeping, then an explosion, smoke, and flames as the light overhead went out. In the darkness, noise, and confusion, while Klink and Burkhalter tried to shield themselves from the self-destructing gonculator, Hogan swiftly grabbed Wagner's arm and pulled him toward the familiar bunk tunnel entrance.

Hogan smacked the side of the bunk and Wagner climbed down the ladder, glancing once upwards at the Colonel, who smiled and sketched a brief salute.

Wagner smiled back, silently thanking him, and then he descended into the tunnel as the bunk entrance closed.

At the base of the ladder he saw Lila, and his heart gave a leap of joy. But they could not tarry; she quickly handed him a civilian overcoat and hat and he gave her the homing device.

The two of them hurried down the underground corridor until they reached the emergency tunnel.

Soon they were in the woods outside of the stalag and making their way to the back road about a mile distant. There they could see Oskar Schnitzer's dog truck hidden in the trees, and Max's ancient sedan that stood nearby, and Max and Oskar themselves.

The two men watched in sympathetic silence as Wagner and Lila said their goodbyes.

"Can you not come to England with me?" He looked at her in bewilderment as she handed him back the homing device.

She shook her head sadly. "My work is here. And Major Lutz is now officially dead, so you must go. You need to deliver the homing device to the Allies, and I am sure you have work to do in England as well."

Wagner sighed. "I do. But when the war is over..."

Lila smiled. "When the war is over, dearest."

He caught her up in a fierce embrace and they clung together for a moment. Then she said, "Major Lutz, I've been meaning to ask you...what is your real name?"

"Wagner. Richard Wagner."

"Richard...that's a nice name."

...

So Wagner made his way to England yet again, back to his nice, safe, boring desk job...


	4. Captain Herber

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

Wagner joins the Gestapo, in a manner of speaking...

Missing scenes from "Will the Real Colonel Klink Please Stand Up Against the Wall?" A few lines of dialogue from the episode are included.

* * *

><p>The message I had received was a little unnerving. Who would want to be summoned to Berlin in the middle of World War Two? I couldn't ignore it, though; the message had been carefully coded, but I knew it was from Major Hans Teppel.<p>

I was acquainted with Major Teppel, but for our mutual protection we did not maintain contact on a regular basis. It's a dangerous business to be undercover in enemy territory in wartime, and Hans and I, being old hands at it, were doubly cautious.

Of course, I knew his real name was not Hans Teppel, just as he knew my real name wasn't Wolfgang Hochstetter. But during our infrequent phone conversations and our even more infrequent meetings, we kept to our aliases. Safer all around, we figured.

Hell of a nice guy, Hans. We got along very well, even though his connection was with OSS and mine was with MI6. It was an unfortunate reality that the two intelligence agencies, although allies, tended to communicate very poorly, mirroring the attitudes of the British and American military commands.

And on top of that, his alternate identity was Abwehr and mine was Gestapo...but luckily Teppel and I transcended interservice rivalry and shared information when we could.

Of course, on this particular occasion, the information he had to share was not exactly what I wanted to hear...

I met him in a quiet park located in an unfashionable neighborhood of Berlin. He was sitting on a bench under a shade tree, apparently engrossed in that day's edition of _Das Reich._

I sat down on the other end of the bench and reached into the small sack I had brought with me. I pulled out a half-eaten sandwich and started to throw crumbs to the pigeons.

After a few moments, I said, "Can't believe everything you read, you know."

The newspaper did not move. "Herr Goebbels would have us think so. Welcome back to the big city, by the way."

"Is that a crack about my assignment to the not-so-big city of Hammelburg?"

"Not at all. From what I hear, you have your hands full in that backwater village of yours."

I had to agree. The bizarre doings at Stalag 13 were enough to keep half a dozen Gestapo officers busy, and often did. As I was head of the Hammelburg office, it was up to me to handle - or mishandle, as was usually the case - these occurrences. Life in Berlin had been so much easier...I shook off my thoughts and looked over at my companion, at least what I could see of him that wasn't concealed by the newspaper.

"You have news?"

"Sort of. Ever hear of Richard Wagner?"

I pondered that for a moment. "Well, he wrote some very long and boring operas..."

The newspaper rustled impatiently. "Not that Richard Wagner, _D__ummkopf!_ And don't voice your opinions too loudly...favorite composer of _der Führer,_ remember. No, I'm speaking of an OSS agent."

"Sorry, don't know him."

Teppel turned a page. "You will."

The pigeons had mostly flown off but the smallest one remained, looking at me hopefully, so I tossed him the last crumb. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I have to place this guy as a Gestapo plant. And I gotta tell you, I don't feel good about it."

"Any special reason?"

"Well, first off, he really doesn't want to be here."

"Hans, none of us want to be here."

"In this case, his reluctance to be here could get him killed. He's a nice kid - "

"Kid?"

"Early thirties, probably." Teppel sighed. "Hell, they all look like kids to me. Anyway, I know his boss - the man is hard-working and dedicated, but he's got a bee in his bonnet about Wagner. I won't deny that Wagner's done some good work while operating undercover here - I handled the placement for his first job too - but he's had a couple of close calls, and I think Milliken's pushing him too hard. Fact is, I want to send him back to England."

"Yeah? Do you have the authority to do that?"

"No," he admitted. "I thought maybe you could do it."

"_What?_" The smallest pigeon flew off, offended, and I lowered my voice. "I don't even know the guy."

"Here's the deal. Wagner's previous undercover identity is presumably deceased, and Milliken now wants to use him as an OSS plant in the Gestapo. I thought about having him work with Steuben down in Munich, but then I thought of you."

"Gee, thanks."

"Listen, I'm not sure why the guy even agreed to come back to Germany, but he clearly doesn't belong here, and posing as a Gestapo officer is the last thing Wagner should be doing. I figured you could give him a minor assignment, and then come up with a good reason to send him back to London. Piece of cake. Nobody gets hurt."

Famous last words, I thought. But I respected Teppel's opinion, and it was obvious he was sincerely concerned about this Wagner guy. "Okay, I'm in. I'll expect a notification from Berlin any day about my new officer."

"Terrific. Take it easy, Wolf." The edge of the newspaper fluttered slightly in farewell.

I got to my feet and prepared to leave. "You too, Hans."

...

So it happened about a week later that I found myself meeting with General Burkhalter in my office in Hammelburg, with my new officer Captain Herber, aka Richard Wagner, in attendance. The General was more than a little upset regarding concentrated sabotage activity in the area, concerning three different trains over the last four weeks.

And understandably so. Since he oversaw the Luftstalags, and knowledge of the train schedules was classified information known only to the Kommandants of the stalags in the area - Braun, Schlesinger, and Klink - this situation was squarely in his lap.

Of course, since Klink was one of the Kommandants involved, naturally I figured that somehow Colonel Hogan had managed to get his hands on Klink's copy of the train schedules, and was responsible for the sabotage. But this didn't seem to occur to Burkhalter, so I was quick to fasten on Klink as the suspected saboteur.

"Braun and Schlesinger are dedicated, loyal officers," I said. "They would not be traitors."

"That leaves only Klink!" said Burkhalter.

I chuckled an evil chuckle. "That would seem so, wouldn't it?"

That's when I had my brilliant idea. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone, as it were.

I had promised Teppel I would get Wagner safely out of Germany, and to tell the truth, Wagner's deference and heel-clicking were already getting on my nerves. I suspected he had been watching too many movies about the Nazi menace while in London, and had picked up some strange ideas on how Gestapo officers should behave. Frankly, the sooner he was off my hands, the better.

And I thought I could forestall suspicion of Hogan's sabotage activity by investigating Klink in the meantime. Win-win situation, you might say.

So I suggested that Captain Herber be appointed as Klink's new aide, to spy on Klink, the suspected saboteur. Burkhalter was agreeable, as there was another very important train due to be passing through the area, and he wrote out the orders at once.

After I saw the General out of my office, I turned to look at Wagner.

Actually, I had to look up at him. Way up. He was annoyingly tall, probably ten years younger than myself, with a full head of hair, and hell, he even had a better mustache than mine.

But I heroically overcame my envy, however justified it may have been. After all, as Teppel had said, he was a nice guy, if a bit irksome. And I needed to know more about him before I had him carry out this assignment.

Now that Burkhalter had gone, though, I could see that Wagner seemed a little perturbed.

"Something about this situation bothers you? I understood you agreed to return to undercover work in Germany."

Wagner nodded. "I did agree to return. You see, when I was last here, there was a girl I worked with, an underground agent, and her name was Lila..." His voice trailed off wistfully.

Oh, brother. It was all clear to me now - the poor guy was in love.

"And that's why you're here? You know," I said carefully, "you could endanger this Lila by trying to contact her."

Wagner looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. "I know, I know...I don't mean to seek her out. I just...I couldn't stay safe in England, knowing what she faces here."

"And you thought to share in the danger?" I sighed. "Listen, I understand what you're feeling."

And I did. Sometimes I came to Stalag 13, not to investigate the most dangerous man in Germany, but just to get a chance to see Hilda, even if for a brief moment...

But that was beside the point. I went on, "You need to consider how she would feel about you being here. I can't imagine that it would add to her safety - or peace of mind - to know you were back in Germany."

"No, it probably wouldn't," he said in a despondent tone. I could tell he knew I was right, but I could also tell there was something else bothering him, and I waited for him to continue.

Wagner shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I did not mind coming back to Germany, but I really did not want to return to Stalag 13. I owe Hogan and his men a great deal, and it seems as though I bring them nothing but trouble. It's as though I'm some kind of jinx!"

After he went on to explain his previous experiences at Stalag 13, I could see his point, all right, but I said bracingly, "Well, let's just look at the current situation. The sabotage activity involving these trains has come to Burkhalter's attention, and for some reason he suspects Klink, not Hogan."

"But supposedly there's never been a successful escape from Stalag 13...why should he suspect Colonel Hogan?"

I regarded Wagner thoughtfully for a moment. "I know Hogan somehow got you out of the country at least twice, but how much do you know about what goes on at Stalag 13?"

"I know they have created a tunnel system where they produce counterfeit money, that they have underground contacts, and that they assist downed fliers and defectors to escape Germany." He paused for a moment. "And of course, I saw a steam room there once; I'm not so sure about that anymore...but sabotage?"

"Well, all you need to know about that are these two important details: we don't get in their way, and we cover up their activities as best we can."

"Like now?" Wagner's eyes brightened at this; I could tell the idea of being a help instead of a hindrance to Colonel Hogan appealed to him.

"Exactly. It's not always pleasant, and it's never pretty, but we protect Hogan and his men. Without breaking our own cover. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"In this case, we throw Klink to the wolves." There was more to it than that, of course; the ability to manipulate Klink was integral to Hogan's operation, so there had to be an alternate fall guy.

And I had one, right there in front of me, all six feet two of him. But Wagner didn't need to know that; I had to have him appear as sincere as possible in pursuing Klink as the source of the sabotage, to keep Burkhalter from turning in Hogan's direction. And, of course, the resulting fallout of the investigation would hopefully give me the opportunity to return Wagner to his eminently suitable work in London.

"You will be the linchpin of the operation," I told him. "As Captain Herber, you are now assigned as Klink's new aide, and this will give you the opportunity to get the goods on him. One thing to remember, though, since you are well known to Hogan and his men: you need to maintain your cover as Captain Herber. All contact with the prisoners, Colonel Hogan included, must be dealt with as though you are indeed Captain Herber. The only place you can safely drop your cover with them is in the tunnels. No matter what. Got that?"

Wagner agreed meekly.

Now, it must be understood that even though Hogan knew I worked for the Allies, and I knew of his operation, I had even less direct contact with him than I did with Teppel. So my role in his often convoluted plans was one of turning a blind eye to the goings-on at the camp, or discreetly mishandling investigations of the same, in order to deflect suspicion from him and his men.

In short, I generally just went with the flow. I usually wasn't privy to the full details of whatever scheme was going on, but that was okay, as long as Hogan got the job done - and he always did.

Of course, my behavior was carefully calculated to facilitate this. I had developed a well-deserved reputation for being just a tad obsessed, and maybe a little off my rocker, so when I went into full Hochstetter mode (as I frequently did) and loudly proclaimed Hogan to be the most dangerous man in all of Germany, nobody listened to me. Kind of like the boy who cried wolf.

What, you thought I was just an incompetent idiot?

Anyway, Wagner reported for duty with Colonel Klink the very next day, on direct orders from General Burkhalter. He had familiarized himself thoroughly with Klink's routine, so as to seem the perfect aide. Very conscientious fellow, Wagner.

I was a little concerned that since Klink had met him before, there was a risk of him being recognized, but Wagner assured me that on his last meeting with Klink, the Kommandant hadn't a clue. And he also pointed out that Burkhalter, who had also met him twice before, hadn't recognized him either. Apparently growing a mustache made a remarkable difference in his appearance.

I knew that Wagner would do his best to discover anything that might make Burkhalter convinced that Klink was indeed the perpetrator of the sabotage, but what I didn't expect was a phone call from him that very evening. He had spotted Klink's staff car leaving the camp, with Klink at the wheel.

This had to be an innocent (more or less) assignation with a _Fräulein_ in town, I thought, but I jumped on it as though Klink were indeed a saboteur.

I told Wagner to call the stationmaster in town and put Plan B in action; in other words, switch the trains to different routes. I also told him to search Klink's office for further evidence. Wagner, staying in character as Captain Herber as instructed, assured me that he would comply.

When I got the call from Wagner, I knew Hogan and his men would be listening in on our discussion of Klink, the suspected saboteur. What they would do about it, I didn't know, but Hogan always had a plan. At the very least, I was pretty sure they'd intercept Wagner's call to the stationmaster - they had to protect Klink, after all. Hogan must have thought I was an idiot for going after Klink, and was probably more than a little annoyed with me for doing it, but I was resigned to that. I had to wonder, though, if they had realized yet just who Captain Herber was. I had to smile as I imagined Hogan coming face to face with Wagner yet again...

...

As it turned out, though, after I had Burkhalter come to camp - in the middle of the night! - to catch Klink in the act, Klink was in his quarters and claimed to have been there all night. And it proved that both Schultz and Colonel Hogan could attest to that fact, after they were summoned to Klink's office at his request.

Of course, I had never thought that Klink's car leaving the camp had any sinister connotation - I had just used the occurrence as an excuse to cast suspicion on the guy. But now Hogan and Schultz both asserted that Klink could not have been in that car, so I was left to wonder.

Klink had been in his quarters all that time? Then who was it who left the camp? I had a feeling I would have an explosive answer soon, but that wasn't my concern right now.

After I received official notification that the phone lines were down to the railway station, it was clear that Wagner's call could never had reached the stationmaster. Obviously Hogan and his men had indeed intercepted that call. And now that Klink was exonerated, and it was shown that the stationmaster could never have received the call that Captain Herber claimed to have made, Captain Herber was set up as the fall guy.

Poor Wagner. He'd tried so hard, too.

Burkhalter beckoned to me and whispered in my ear that Captain Herber was the man I was looking for. I agreed, and then Burkhalter told Klink to take the others out of the room.

When Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Schultz turned to go, Hogan looked back briefly at Wagner, and then at me. As his eyes met mine he gave me an almost imperceptible nod, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully everything would turn out okay...

"And now," said Burkhalter menacingly, "Captain Herber..."

Wagner's eyes registered instant alarm at the direction things were taking. I was sorry about this, but it was important that Burkhalter had someone to blame, now that Klink was safely alibied. Especially if Klink's staff car could be connected with an exploding train in the near future. And I didn't want suspicion to fall on Hogan and his men, of course.

So I assumed my most evil Hochstetter sneer and promptly took Captain Herber into custody. "Rest assured, _Herr General_, that I will get to the bottom of this," I told Burkhalter.

I pulled my Luger and hustled Wagner out of Klink's office, down the steps, and into the back of my staff car. This woke up the driver who had been dozing at the wheel; I told the befuddled fellow to get a move on, and take us back to Hammelburg.

Soon we were out the front gates and moving through the night toward town. In the back of the staff car, I held my gun on Wagner, who seemed stunned by the recent developments, as well he might.

A little distance down the Hammelburg road, I ordered the driver to stop. "Apparently Captain Herber needs to answer the call of nature," I said with a tone of amused contempt.

Wagner looked at me sharply, but said nothing. We both climbed out of the car and went into the woods, Wagner leading the way and me following, gun in hand. It was dark, but the flickering moonlight showed the way safely enough.

"Keep going," I said, when he hesitated after fifty yards or so.

After a bit, I told him to stop.

Wagner turned to face me, his eyes puzzled and a little afraid. "I don't understand. What are you going to do with me?"

"I'm not going to do anything," I said. "I just needed to get you within reach of the emergency tunnel. Hogan and his men will get you back to England; I understand they've had plenty of practice."

Wagner exhaled sharply, and I could see a faint smile of relief on his face. "Unfortunately, that is true. But how will you account for my disappearance?"

I shrugged. "I'll use the same old hackneyed, yet effective excuse...shot while escaping."

Well, it had worked with Brauner(1), hadn't it?

His eyes grew wide. "Oh."

I looked at him and said quietly, "Listen, Wagner, you did a good job. And I'm sorry it had to go down like this, but protecting Hogan's operation - and I'm afraid Klink is an essential part of it - was paramount."

"I understand," he said. "I think."

"Well, good luck, Wagner."

"Thank you, sir." He turned and headed for the tree stump entrance some yards distant. I was watching for patrols, but I was glad to see he checked the area thoroughly before approaching the stump.

I waited until he was safely inside before I headed back towards the road. Before I reached it, I pointed my Luger in the air and fired once. Then I pushed my way through the woods and made my way to the staff car.

The driver was waiting patiently, but I could see he was alarmed at the gunshot, and Captain Herber's absence.

"He tried to attack me," I said curtly, by way of explanation. "I will be making my report to General Burkhalter. And when we get to town, I will notify Kommandant Klink that there are some...details to dispose of."

I got in the back of the car and ordered the unnerved driver to head back to Hammelburg. Of course, I wouldn't be making any notification to Klink, but my report to General Burkhalter would have to be carefully worded. Nothing new in that; but all he would care about was that the supposed perpetrator of the sabotage had been taken care of.

I looked out the window and sighed. Yeah, Wagner was an okay guy, and I wished him well. But once he got back to London, I really hoped he stuck to that nice, safe, boring desk job.

* * *

><p>(1) "Heil Klink"<p> 


	5. Captain Mitchell

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

Wagner lands in an impossible situation once again...

Missing scenes from "The Big Gamble". Included are some lines of dialogue from the episode.

* * *

><p>Dr. George Romney was well pleased. The final adjustments to the radio direction finder had been made, and the device was ready to be installed in the first aircraft. Initial versions had been implemented in trial runs over England, and it was imperative that this final version would be usable in a combat situation.<p>

He looked over at his new assistant. Wagner had been invaluable in providing input regarding Germany's radio transmission and detection capabilities, plus he had a solid engineering background and a few good ideas of his own.

Pity he was with the OSS, and on temporary loan only to Romney's department. Still, a German speaker with his knowledge base would be a very handy person to have on the first combat mission_, _especially to monitor any German transmissions intercepted during the flight.

Romney rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps he would have a word with Wagner's superior...what was his name, now? Ah, yes. Milliken.

...

Wagner was in his element; had been for weeks_. _He had been given a glorious opportunity: to use the rules of mathematics and physics to help create something designed for a specific and very important purpose. This satisfied something deep inside him. He had almost forgotten why he had studied engineering in the first place; his unwilling and unsuccessful stint in his uncle's business, followed by his time in the German army, had almost obliterated that early ambition.

And his useful but boring work with the OSS with its seemingly endless translation, transcription and interpretation duties, interspersed with moments of stark terror while working undercover, pushed his engineering dream even further away.

But this new temporary assignment somehow fostered a seed of hope in Wagner's soul. The world war still raged, and the outcome was not certain, but he found himself dreaming of the future.

A future working in America, perhaps, for RCA or one of its competitors. Where he could design and build electronic components and systems all day long without fear of bombs or sabotage. Where he could go home each evening to a little cottage where Lila waited for him, with children playing...

He shook himself free of the dream. Lila was in Germany and sometimes he despaired of ever seeing her again. Peace was far off, and his work right now was essential to the war effort. Wagner hunched over the diagrams again and did some recalculations.

The hushed sound of a door opening made him raise his head. Dr. Romney entered the room and Wagner rose to his feet, setting his slide-rule down on the work table. Then his eyes widened as he saw Milliken, his OSS superior, follow Romney into the room.

Romney was almost jovial. "Wagner, I've had a talk with Milliken here, and I think we've come up with a plan that should ensure the success of the DF on its first mission. He's handling the security for the flight, so I'll let him fill you in on the details." With a smile and a handshake for Milliken and an approving nod to Wagner, Romney left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Sit down, Wagner!" Milliken, too, had a touch of joviality. "Don't look so worried; we're not sending you back to Germany, you know. I will freely admit that my idea of having you work undercover as Gestapo was a tad misguided."

Wagner didn't know quite what to say to this, so he kept quiet.

"But since you've been working with Dr. Romney on this new direction finder, you will understand how important it is that someone with technical expertise be on the first flight to ensure the proper use of the device. Dr. Romney also feels, and I agree, that monitoring German radio transmissions during the flight will give us an idea if Jerry suspects anything. So naturally, you are the ideal fellow for the job."

"Yes, sir." Somehow, Wagner did not have a good feeling about this.

"And as a precaution, of course, you will need to have proper credentials as a member of the crew. We'll have you assist the radio man, and you'll carry identification as Captain John Mitchell." Milliken beamed, obviously expecting full cooperation on Wagner's part.

"Yes, sir." Wagner cringed a little inside, remembering his last flight in a bomber. And the not-so-good feeling got worse.

...

A week later, Wagner's bad feelings proved justified as he clipped his parachute harness in place. The plane had taken heavy flak and the pilot had given the abandon ship order. The direction finder was Wagner's particular concern, and he had tried to activate the destruct mechanism without success. There was no time to get to it to destroy it manually; everyone had to bail out, and bail out at once.

_I am never getting in another airplane as long as I live_, Wagner thought as he pulled his ripcord and felt the jerk of his chute opening. He could see the chutes of the crew members opening one by one and sighed with relief as he counted ten of them. He had got to know the crew quite well in the last few days, and he worried about their safety, as well as his own.

But a drift of wind slowly but surely separated him from the others, and as he looked downwards he realized that he would land very close to what remained of the downed bomber. It was broken into pieces but not in flames, and he was instantly alarmed.

_Oh, my God,_ he thought. _The direction finder will still be intact. And if the Germans find it..._

He landed safely and swiftly hid his chute - no time to bury it - and then cautiously looked around. If only he could reach the plane in time...but he was surrounded by a Gestapo patrol almost immediately, with firearms pointed directly at him.

He put his hands in the air and tried to mask his terror. What would happen next...interrogation, torture, maybe the firing squad when they realized who he was?

He submitted to a rough but mercifully brief search by the Gestapo, and pretended ignorance of their commands voiced in German. One of them then switched to excellent English, though, and ordered him to march.

Hands linked behind his head, Wagner obeyed. He trudged through the woods, stumbling now and then, harried along by the impatient officers who had him in custody. Eventually they reached a road, where a truck was parked, and the English-speaking officer ordered him to get in.

Riding in the back of the truck, and guarded by a cold-eyed Gestapo officer, he gloomily wondered about his fate. Things looked very dark.

But for once Wagner had lucked out. From what he could overhear of his captors' conversation, he had landed very near a Luftstalag, and apparently the patrol figured they'd unload him there, rather than deliver him to a transit camp. And as the truck drew near the camp, he discovered something else.

He, and what was left of the plane, had landed right outside of Stalag 13.

...

It wasn't often that a daylight bombing raid flew right over Stalag 13, but when one did, the entire group of prisoners would gather in the compound and cheer, much to the displeasure of Colonel Klink.

This particular raid, however, had one of its bombers shot down before their very eyes, as described by Sergeant Schultz, armed with a pair of binoculars, and gleefully confirmed by the Kommandant.

That was unwelcome enough, but the fact that the wreckage of the plane seemed to be plummeting right into the compound had everyone scattering for cover.

Fortunately, the fuselage of the plane, shorn of its wings, landed right outside the wire and no one was hurt. The prisoners watched for signs of the crew which they had seen parachuting from the stricken bomber, but none appeared; Kinch found out later through the underground that ten men had been captured and taken to Stalag 4.

Later in the day, Colonel Hogan and his men gathered near the main gate to view the remains of the bomber. Carter suggested that he could try to sneak out that night and try to salvage something from the wreck, but Hogan decided it wasn't worth it.

"Give the Germans something to play with," he said.

LeBeau pointed to a small truck approaching the front gates. "Oh-oh, the _Boche_ have something else to play with."

And as the truck rolled through the gates, bearing a lone Allied prisoner in the back, the five men were thunderstruck.

"Did you guys see what I just saw?" Kinch tried to maintain his normal calm tone of voice, but it wasn't easy.

"Blimey!" Newkirk almost whispered. "Just like a ruddy yo-yo, 'e is."

"_Sacre chats!"_

"Colonel! That's...that's..." Carter was almost incoherent.

Hogan sighed. "Yeah, I know. Should've known Wagner was due to pay us a visit."

A disconsolate Wagner was looking back toward them as the truck drew up in front of the Kommandantur. This latest appearance of their frequent guest showed him to be dressed as an USAAF captain, and Hogan could only wonder what he was up to this time.

As Wagner was led into the Kommandantur, Hogan left the small group of men and headed there himself. It was his duty to be present when the Kommandant interrogated a new prisoner, right?

In Klink's office, the Kommandant was in fine form as he laid down the law to Wagner, as usual not noticing that the man before him was one he had met before.

"You have been brought to the toughest POW camp in all of Germany, and I warn you - "

"Obey the rules and regulations or suffer the consequences," Hogan finished the sentence, in a bored tone of voice.

Ignoring Hogan, Klink then demanded to know his new prisoner's flying group and where he was stationed, but at a slight negative shake of the head from Hogan, Wagner stood up straight, and said, just as any good soldier should do:

"Mitchell comma John comma Captain United States Army Air Force serial number 0876707..."

Hogan was a little jolted to hear his own serial number recited, but he maintained his unconcerned expression as Klink became increasingly agitated, demanding again to know where Captain Mitchell was stationed.

Klink's diatribe was interrupted by a phone call, and from the corner of his eye Hogan could see Wagner surreptitiously take a piece of notepaper and a pencil from the Kommandant's desk and scribble something. He slid the paper into Hogan's hand, but unfortunately the eagle eye of the Iron Colonel did not miss the little byplay.

As soon as he hung up the phone, Klink held out his hand to Hogan. "Hand it over."

Hogan said, as a matter of form, "Hand what over?" but he knew it was useless, and gave Klink the notepaper.

"'Must talk to you - how?'" Klink read aloud from the notepaper. He glowered at Wagner and slowly rose from his chair, approaching the prisoner in a menacing manner. "What is so important? Speak up!"

Wagner refused to speak, which earned him three days in the cooler. This drew a protest from Wagner, and Hogan was mildly surprised to see the guy take on some of the belligerent attitude he had previously exhibited as Captain Morgan.

But the objective of getting Wagner into the cooler had been achieved; no sense in prolonging his stay there, so Hogan forestalled any further outbursts on Wagner's part.

Wagner grumbled over Hogan's apparent compliance with Klink, but soon Schultz appeared to take him to the cooler and Hogan watched him go, a thoughtful crease between his brows.

...

Later, Hogan had LeBeau distract Schultz from his guard duty in the cooler with some light and crisp potato pancakes. While Schultz thoroughly enjoyed this treat, Hogan crawled through one of the tunnels leading to the cooler, carefully pushing aside the block hiding the entrance. He put a finger to his lips as the wide-eyed Wagner watched him from his cell.

"Tunneling _into _jail?" asked Wagner, disbelieving.

"Anybody can tunnel _out_ of jail," Hogan said absently, as he checked the hallway of the cooler to be sure Schultz had not yet returned. He came back to Wagner's cell. "This is the safest place to talk."

"You got me in here purposely?"

Hogan brushed that aside. "I'll try to get Klink to release you in a day or so."

Wagner's tension was palpable. "Colonel, what about my crew?"

"They're in Stalag 4," Hogan reassured him. "Now, you wanted to talk to me. What is it?"

"The DF box in my plane."

"DF box?"

"Direction finder. It's top secret. There's an underground transmitting station in France, and another in England; the box is tuned to the signals."

Light dawned on Hogan. "And where the beams cross, you can get a position fix."

Wagner nodded. "Orders are to destroy the box if captured. The destruct mechanism failed. I was hoping the plane would burn when it crashed."

"Well, it didn't," Hogan said grimly. "The forward fuselage is still intact."

"That's trouble," Wagner said. "If the Germans find that box, and analyze it..."

"They could figure a way to jam your signals."

"But every day they don't have it saves men and planes!" Wagner said urgently. "Somebody's got to steal that DF box before they get wise to it."

Hogan frowned. Then he pulled a notebook and pencil from his jacket and handed them to Wagner. "Sketch the box, with any details and dimensions if you know them."

"Yes, sir."

Hogan watched him for a moment, and then said, "Wagner, I have to ask...when you gave Klink name, rank, and serial number, you gave him _my_ serial number. Why?"

Wagner looked up from the diagram he was drawing. "Sir, I'm so sorry. But I haven't been Captain Mitchell for very long, and my mind went blank when I tried to remember the serial number. So I just said the one I had memorized a long time ago..."

"When you were an informer at Stalag 13." Hogan folded his arms and glared at Wagner, who had resumed his sketching. "Know a lot about me, do you?"

"Well, yes and no, sir. I know you commanded the 504th and you were shot down over Hamburg. I know you're from Bridgeport, Connecticut, or maybe it was Cleveland...no, wait, it was Indianapolis..."

"All right, already." Hogan decided he'd heard enough about that. "One more thing...the next time you bail out, pick another stalag."

Wagner gave him a half-smile and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Colonel. I really didn't plan to come back here again."

Hogan sighed. "You never do, do you? How did you get caught up in this particular mission?"

"I was involved in the DF project, and my superiors thought it would be a good idea to have me accompany the device on the initial flight in combat."

Hogan raised his brows. "You're some kind of expert on this stuff?"

Wagner looked a little embarrassed. "Not really. But I studied engineering at MIT, and I had a chance to see what Germany had developed when I was Major Lutz, so..."

"You got roped into it." Hogan nodded, then sighed again. "Wagner, I really hate to tell you this, but..."

"There's no escaping to England this time," Wagner said in a low voice.

"Don't get discouraged," Hogan said. "But you've been officially captured, you know. You're on the books. And you know we have to maintain our no-escape policy at Stalag 13."

"Yes, sir."

Hogan started pacing the corridor in front of the cell. "But once you're out of the cooler, you'll be transferred to an Oflag."

"Yes, sir."

"It's possible, depending on the amount of security during the transfer, that we could try an ambush..."

"No."

Hogan's gaze snapped to Wagner's face. "No?"

"No, sir. I can't have you risk your men like that, for me." He looked down at the drawing in his hands and closed the notebook carefully. "You and your men have already done so much for me, rescued me time and again. I can't have you do it this time."

Hogan blinked. "You're serious."

"Yes."

"You would be willing to sit out the war in a POW camp?"

Wagner looked up, with a glimmer of a smile. "Isn't that what you are doing?"

Hogan said drily, "Well, we're not exactly sitting it out..."

"But you are still in a POW camp, for the duration of the war."

Hogan couldn't deny it. "Yes."

"Then that's where I'll be, too."

...

As it turned out, the direction finder was discovered by the Germans, but Hogan and his men successfully switched it with a dummy device constructed by Carter, based on Wagner's drawing. And a few days later, Hogan and Kinch watched as a prisoner transport truck carrying Wagner rolled out the front gates, on its way to Stalag 5.

Kinch glanced sideways at his CO. "Think we've seen the last of him, Colonel?"

"Oh, yeah," said Hogan. "He's going to a not-so-nice, not-so-safe, but undeniably boring job as a POW. We've definitely seen the last of him." Then he hesitated. "Maybe..."

...

So Wagner went off to his new home at Stalag 5. Except it didn't turn out quite as he expected...


	6. Major Strauss

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

Wagner is summoned back to Stalag 13 under some pretty strange circumstances...

Missing scenes from "Standing Room Only". Included are some lines of dialogue from the episode.

* * *

><p>From the back of the prisoner transport truck Richard Wagner, currently known as Captain John Mitchell, USAAF, watched as the gates of Stalag 13 receded into the distance.<p>

Strange to feel nostalgic about such a place, but there it was. At least he knew what to expect at Stalag 13...sort of. And now that he was headed for another prison camp, the future was unknown, and frightening. There was nothing he could do about it, though, so he settled down as best he could and waited for what was next in his bizarre career as a German defector turned OSS agent.

After an hour or so, he had dozed off, but was rudely awakened by noise and the rough bouncing of a vehicle almost out of control. Alarmed, he sat up and looked around, trying to make sense of the situation.

The truck had shuddered to a stop, and was pulled up at the side of the road, leaning at a very tipsy angle. The guard who had shared the back of the truck with him climbed down stiffly, smothering a groan as he did so. Huntzinger, like many of the Stalag 13 guards, was not in the first blush of youth.

Safely on the ground, he looked in the back of the truck at Wagner. "You stay put, Captain. Corporal Kurtz and I will try to find out what is wrong."

Wagner had no particular objection to make to this, but he leaned out of the back of the truck to see what the other two were doing.

"Flat tire?" he said.

"_Nein,"_ said Kurtz. He shook his head, and then conferred with Huntzinger. "It is growing dark, and we are nowhere near Stalag 5. I think maybe we have a broken tie rod, and we will need to have the truck towed."

"_Ja._ But this road is quite deserted, how are we to summon help? And what do we do with the Captain?"

They both turned to look at Wagner, who smiled and shrugged helplessly. But the sound of an engine caused all three men to look down the road.

A battered Mercedes-Benz sedan approached at speed, and then came to a slithering stop on the side of the road just behind the crippled truck. The driver's door opened, and a tall middle-aged man in the uniform of a Luftwaffe major got out.

The man appeared to be a friendly and accommodating soul, and he asked the two guards if he could help them out.

"_Bitte, Herr Major_, if you would be so kind as to leave word in the next town that we need a tow truck..."

"Of course, of course," said the Major. He spotted Wagner sitting in the back of the truck then, and his brows went up. "You have a prisoner, I see."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major," _said Kurtz. "We are transporting him to Stalag 5, sir."

The Major gave a booming laugh that made Kurtz, Huntzinger and Wagner all jump. "My destination as well! I tell you what - you fellows stay here with your truck. I will take the Captain with me to the stalag, and we will stop on the way in Giessen to let them know you need assistance."

This seemed to be fine with Huntzinger, but the conscientious Kurtz appeared to have reservations. "We have our orders, sir."

"Of course, my dear fellow, but you have new orders as of now. I will take custody of the Captain."

Kurtz was still doubtful. "Yes, sir. But you will require one of us to guard him..."

"Nonsense!" said the Major. "The Captain will drive, and I will keep him in line with this!" He whipped his sidearm from its holster, and this made the other three men jump again, this time with Wagner and Huntzinger both putting their hands in the air as well, Huntzinger dropping his rifle in the process.

Kurtz managed to maintain his composure, however, and ordered Wagner out of the truck. Wagner climbed out, eyeing the Major doubtfully. The fellow seemed eccentric, to say the least, and Wagner would much have preferred to remain in the custody of the two Stalag 13 guards.

But the Major indicated the driver's seat of his car with an ironic little bow, and Wagner, after exchanging a glance with Kurtz, got in. The Major got in the passenger's seat and slammed the door.

Kurtz bent down slightly to address the Major through the window. "But who shall I say has accepted responsibility for the Captain?"

"Didn't I say?" The Major gave another booming laugh. "Tell them Major Strauss, Kommandant of Stalag 5, is taking this prisoner to his new home. Heil Hitler!"

With that he nodded to Wagner. Resigned to his fate, Wagner started up the car and they were off, leaving Kurtz and Huntzinger to watch them go, consternation apparent on both their faces.

About twenty miles down the road they reached the city of Giessen. By this time, it was full dark and it was with some difficulty that they located a garage that was open. Strauss notified a bored attendant that a Luftwaffe truck required towing, and then he instructed Wagner to drive to a hotel downtown.

"I don't know about you, young man, but I could use a beer and some schnitzel," he told the bemused Wagner.

If the waiter in the almost-deserted coffee room of the hotel thought there was anything odd about a Luftwaffe major treating an American captain to a bite of dinner, he kept it to himself. And soon Strauss and Wagner were enjoying a plate of wiener schnitzel apiece, washed down with the house lager.

Strauss seemed to consider Wagner a comrade, a peer almost, rather than the enemy, for he confided in him about his current situation. "You have picked a fine time to be transferred to Stalag 5, Captain," he told Wagner earnestly. "I am on my way there to take over as Kommandant, by direct order of General Burkhalter."

Wagner nodded wisely and took another drink of his beer.

"Odd thing, that," added Strauss. "How strange to receive orders from General Burkhalter - I've never even met the man! Apparently Engler, the man I'm replacing, has allowed nearly one hundred escapes since January. Burkhalter says he wants me to clean up the situation at Stalag 5, and he's only giving me a few weeks to do it. But mark my words, I'll be held accountable for every escape of the past year!"

"That does seem a shame, sir."

The Major brooded on that for a bit, staring into the depths of his beer mug. Then he looked up at Wagner and smiled. "Not to worry, though. I pride myself on being an officer and a gentleman; an honorable soldier!" He tapped the briefcase he had brought along with him. "I've got a copy of the Articles of the Geneva Convention of 1929 right here. You'll find that I will be a just, but firm, Kommandant."

"Yes, sir."

"I may be new to this prison camp business, but you have my word that you and your compatriots will be treated with all the respect due to you as fellow officers." Strauss paused to take a spotless handkerchief from his pocket and patted his brow.

"Thank you, sir." Wagner watched as the Major reached for his beer mug with a hand that trembled slightly. Then he noted with alarm that Strauss's color had turned gray, and he seemed short of breath.

"Captain," Strauss said faintly, "if you would be so kind as to assist me to the men's room...?"

"Yes, sir." Wagner jumped up and went around the table. He carefully helped Strauss to his feet.

"Get the briefcase," Strauss wheezed. "My pills are inside..."

"Yes, sir." Wagner grabbed the handle of the briefcase and then, half-supporting Strauss's weight, slowly made his way across the empty coffee room to the door discreetly marked "00".

Inside, there was a small lounge area in the outer room. He eased the Major down onto a sofa and loosened his tie. Then, at a weak gesture from Strauss, he opened up the leather briefcase. Inside were official-looking papers, the previously mentioned Articles of the Geneva Convention of 1929, and a toiletries kit that contained shaving gear and a small bottle of pills.

"Nitroglycerin," Strauss gasped. "Under my tongue."

Crouching down beside the sofa, Wagner carefully slipped a tiny tablet under the Major's tongue, This seemed to ease him somewhat, and he whispered, "Another."

Wagner repeated the action, and Strauss looked at him in gratitude.

"_Danke," _he said, and weakly squeezed Wagner's hand. Then he gave a long, shuddering sigh, and was still.

For a moment Wagner was stunned into immobility. Then he freed his hand from Strauss's limp grasp, and placed his fingers against the side of the Major's neck. No pulse.

He gently closed the Major's eyelids and slowly got to his feet. The implications of what had just happened were starting to come to him. An American (supposedly) POW, alone with a German officer in a hotel restroom...that officer now dead...would a firing squad be soon to follow?

He looked down at the Major's peaceful face, and then at his own strained features reflected in the wall mirror. As if in a dream, Wagner began to unbutton the tunic of the dead man.

...

Several weeks later, at Stalag 13...

Colonel Hogan ascended the bunk ladder and emerged into the common room, closely followed by Kinch.

"Those guys from Stalag 5 are really getting restless, Colonel."

"Don't I know it! And so far, there's not a thing we can do about getting them out of here. Unless...how is that girl from the underground coming along with Klink?"

"She reports being deluged with jewelry, caviar, and champagne, but no useful information. Klink talks, all right, but apparently he knows nothing of value."

Hogan thought this over. "Probably no sense in having her continue much longer, then. Sounds like the only thing we're accomplishing there is driving Klink into bankruptcy."

Kinch chuckled. "You're probably right, sir."

"Ah jeez, we're batting a thousand, aren't we? Klink knows nothing, and we have seven guys from Stalag 5 in the tunnels we can't get rid of."

He was interrupted by Carter, who had been watching the door. "Schultz coming!"

By the time Schultz lumbered through the barracks door, Kinch, LeBeau and Carter were seated at the table, cards in hand. Newkirk and Hogan were looking on with apparently fascinated interest.

"Any jacks?" asked Carter.

"Go fish," said Kinch. "Oh, hi, Schultz. We're not gambling, honest."

"I see nothing," said Schultz. "But Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant wants to see you im-med-i-ate-ly. It is very important."

"Okay, Schultz, I'll be right there," said Hogan. "Deal me in on the next hand, guys."

He followed Schultz out into the compound. "What's this about, Schultz?"

"I am sorry, Colonel Hogan, I really do not know. You will have to ask the Kommandant."

Hogan speculated idly on his summons. Klink had been in a good mood lately - due, no doubt, to spending time with the lovely Sofia of the expensive tastes - but his moods could change on the whim of a moment.

He went into the outer office and smiled at Hilda, who gave him a smile in return and then indicated the inner office with a tilt of her head.

Hogan opened the door without knocking and sauntered in. "You sent for me, sir?"

Klink looked up at him, a very odd expression on his face; and for some reason, Hogan felt uneasy.

"Colonel Hogan, I received word from General Burkhalter that he will be visiting our camp tomorrow."

Not an uncommon occurrence; Hogan wondered why Klink thought it necessary to call him to his office to apprise him of this. "Okay," he said, and waited. He was sure Klink had something else on his mind.

"General Burkhalter also had some news to pass on to me. I apologize for the delayed notification, but I regret to inform you that the prisoner Captain John Mitchell is dead."

The words didn't register for a moment. Then, "Captain Mitchell! The Captain Mitchell you transferred to Stalag 5 last month?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

All pretense of humoring Klink was gone: Hogan's next question cracked like a whip. "When?"

"While he was still in transit to Stalag 5. He died of natural causes, I assure you, Colonel Hogan."

"Yeah, right."

Klink frowned at Hogan's tone but with an effort kept his temper in check. "You will be happy to know that he was buried with full military honors."

Hogan said distantly, "Is that all, sir?"

"That is all, Hogan. You may go."

They exchanged salutes and Hogan left the office, walked by Hilda without a glance, and went back to Barracks 2.

The card game had apparently continued in earnest in his absence, and Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter looked up as he came into the room and closed the barracks door with exaggerated care.

"My office," was all he said.

...

Hogan's men watched as their CO paced the small room, his lean frame almost vibrating with tension.

"It wasn't your fault, sir," said Carter.

"_Oui, Colonel._ Wagner did not want us to try to free him during the transfer."

"Maybe it was natural causes, like Klink said," suggested Kinch.

"A healthy young guy like that? Forget it!" Hogan set his teeth in frustration.

Newkirk stubbed out his cigarette with unnecessary force. "Bloody twisters," he muttered.

"There's something fishy about this," Hogan said. "Damn it, I knew I should have done something. He only had those two guards on the transfer..."

"And all those Gestapo patrols hanging around camp, too," Kinch reminded him. "Like Carter says, it wasn't your fault." He hesitated for a moment, then went on,"But sir, I think you should know - that girl the underground brought in for the assignment with Klink..."

"Yeah? Sofia something or other."

"That's just the name she's using for this assignment. Her real name is Lila Fenster. She's the girl who had us get Wagner out of the country when he was Major Lutz."

"Oh, great." Hogan rubbed his face wearily. "Now the man she loves is mysteriously dead and we have no explanation for it."

"Do you want me to have the underground notify her?"

"No, I'll tell her myself. After this assignment with Klink is over. And after we get the men out of the tunnels." Hogan looked around at his men and they gazed back with sympathy, but there was nothing more to be said, and one by one they left the office.

Hogan sighed. He had heard their reassurances, but the heaviness of guilt still plagued him, and the mystery of how Wagner had died weighed on his mind. His uneasy thoughts were poor company for him as he tried to get to sleep that night.

...

The next morning dawned bright and fair, and Newkirk and Carter decided this was a good time to try to beat the dust and unmentionable creatures from their tattered mattresses.

Still preoccupied, Hogan joined them in the sunshine, leaning against the barracks wall as he listened to their idle conversation.

The three men watched as a staff car rolled into the compound.

"Just as Klink promised," said Hogan. "I can see Burkhalter in the back seat...there's some other guy besides the driver in the front...holy smoke!"

Newkirk and Carter didn't echo his exclamation, but they too had recognized the man who emerged from the front seat of the staff car.

"Reminds me of Mark Twain," Hogan murmured, trying to get a handle on the latest turn of events, but conscious most of all of a feeling of overwhelming relief.

"What d'you mean, Colonel?" asked Newkirk, still staring at the staff car.

"Reports of Wagner's death have been greatly exaggerated."

They watched as Wagner, dressed as a Luftwaffe major, opened the car door for Burkhalter and the two went up the steps of the Kommandantur.

"What's going on, Colonel?" asked Carter.

"No idea," said Hogan. "Must be some kind of a meeting."

"Bloody rude of them not to invite you," observed Newkirk.

"Maybe I'll go anyway," said Hogan, pushing himself away from the wall. "Mind the store, huh?"

He crossed the compound and went up the stairs to the Kommandantur. Inside he found Hilda doing some filing, so he sidled up to her, thinking he'd get the inside dope on Wagner's miraculous reappearance.

"This major that just came in with General Burkhalter..."

"What about him?" Hilda was pleasant but unforthcoming.

"Oh, nothing, he just looks familiar, that's all."

She turned to him with a smile. "And you'd like to know who he is."

After Hogan pulled her close for a kiss, she murmured, "Major Strauss, Kommandant of Luftstalag 5."

And after he offered her some nylon stockings, she gave her tacit consent to Hogan taking up a listening post right outside Klink's door.

Ear to the door, Hogan listened intently. Burkhalter was holding forth within, and the gist of his comments was this: due to the number of escapes from Stalag 5, General Burkhalter had brought Major Strauss to camp to learn the techniques of Colonel Klink, Kommandant of the toughest prison camp in all of Germany.

_Unbelievable,_ Hogan thought. _Wagner's really painted himself into a corner_ _this time._

Hearing sounds of the meeting within breaking up, he blew Hilda a kiss and quietly left the outer office.

...

That evening, Hogan wove his way between the Stalag 5 crew crowding the tunnels on his way to the radio room. Kinch greeted him with the news that a long-awaited air raid of Düsseldorf had been carried out successfully; that was the good news. The bad news was that eight downed fliers were now on the loose and needed to be brought into the tunnels.

Big problem. He'd have the guys bring in the downed fliers tonight, but added to the Stalag 5 guys, they'd now have fifteen men in the tunnels: an untenable situation.

And, of course, there was the added complication of their old friend Wagner being in camp as well. He sighed and decided to brief the guys on that situation.

"The Wagner mystery is solved, sort of," Hogan said.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" Kinch looked up from his clipboard.

"I mean that Wagner is now Major Strauss, Kommandant of Stalag 5. And he's here to learn from the Iron Colonel how to prevent escapes from his camp."

Kinch, Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau were stunned into silence for a moment.

Finally, Kinch shook his head. "Leave it to Wagner to get sent to Stalag 5 as a POW and wind up as its Kommandant."

"Without notable success, _appar__emment_," said LeBeau.

"Depends on what you mean by success," Hogan replied.

Newkirk's eyes widened. "D'you mean we 'ave Wagner to thank for all of our ruddy guests right now?" he demanded.

"I don't think you can blame him for the downed fliers we've got to pick up tonight," said Carter, who liked to keep things straight. "But how the heck did he become a Kommandant?"

"Good question," said Hogan. "Be that as it may, Wagner is here, and I've got to find out just what's going on with him. LeBeau, tomorrow have the guys tail him. I want to know when I can catch him alone."

"_Oui, Colonel."_

...

The following morning, Major Strauss was seen to be escorted around the compound by a complacent Klink. It was discovered that Strauss had been assigned Klink's quarters for his stay, and later in the day he holed up in the parlor with a stack of ledgers, presumably the better to study Klink's methods.

Once it was seen that Schultz had delivered tea and cookies to the Major and had been observed to depart the parlor, LeBeau passed the word to Hogan that now was the time to beard Wagner in his borrowed den.

So presently Hogan pushed aside the stove from the tunnel entrance to the parlor. He slowly raised his head to see Wagner seated at the table, absorbed in a ledger he had open before him.

Now that he could observe Wagner more closely, Hogan could see he looked much older than when he had last seen him. But on second thought, perhaps the streaks of gray in his hair had been put there to give the illusion of age. The mustache was new, too; Captain Mitchell had been clean shaven.

"Hi," said Hogan.

He had the satisfaction of seeing Wagner jump, and look wildly around. Then his eyes fell on Hogan, who was now climbing out of the opening in the floor.

"Colonel Hogan!" Wagner gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," Hogan said, brushing himself off. He walked over to the table and pulled up a chair, settling himself comfortably. He then continued, in a mild tone that concealed his true feelings, "Do you realize we thought you were dead?"

"I suppose you must have," Wagner said, with a guilty glance at Hogan. "But I can explain, sir. It's a long story..."

"Shorten it."

"Well, the truck broke down on the way to Stalag 5..."

"Yes, Kurtz gave Klink a report on that. He said Major Strauss had you drive him to Stalag 5."

"Major Strauss had a heart attack on the way there; he died at the hotel where we had stopped for a meal. I feared I would be blamed for his death, so I switched clothes with him and exchanged my Captain Mitchell dog tags for Strauss's identity disk..."

"And you took his place."

"Yes, sir."

"And the man buried with full military honors at Stalag 5 was..."

"Major Strauss."

At the look on the Hogan's face, Wagner stammered, "I had no choice."

Hogan could think of at least half a dozen alternate courses of action he himself would have chosen, but he supposed Wagner had done the best he could in an unnerving situation.

He put his elbows wearily on the table, and accepted a cookie from the plate Wagner offered him.

"There were more cookies, but Schultz was here," Wagner apologized.

"Not a problem." Hogan bit into the cookie. "So why the hell did you take on the job as Kommandant at Stalag 5? Why didn't you run?"

"I couldn't have sneaked Major Strauss's body out of the hotel, and I couldn't leave him there - they would have raised an alarm as soon as he was found, and there would have been an immediate search for me. So I contacted the stalag to send some men to collect Captain Mitchell's body, and I accompanied them to camp. Nobody at Stalag 5 had yet met Major Strauss, you see. I thought I would go to Stalag 5 as Major Strauss, see that the supposed Captain Mitchell was given a decent burial, and then, after a week or so, just disappear."

"And why didn't you do that?"

Wagner looked a little shamefaced. "Well, I discovered that Engler, the previous Kommandant, had mismanaged things terribly. So I had to make sure that the prisoners were being properly taken care of, according to the Geneva Convention. And then I decided to improve the camp security..."

"Improve it to make it easier for prisoners to escape, you mean."

"Well, yes. It was really quite simple. You see..."

"Never mind." Hogan was beginning to get a headache. "You realize, of course, that by facilitating a mass escape, you not only brought trouble on your own head with Burkhalter, you also overburdened our operation here."

Wagner was crestfallen. "I'm very sorry, sir. I'll do better next time."

"There won't _be_ a next time! Wagner, you can't go back to Stalag 5, it would be suicidal."

"But I don't see how..."

"I don't either," Hogan admitted. "But I'll think of something." His gaze fell on the open ledger on the table and he tapped it with his finger. "What's this?"

"Klink's accounts." Wagner flipped over a few pages. "Look at this - see how much money he's been spending for champagne and caviar? And Sergeant Schultz tells me that Klink was not entertaining Göring as he claims here, but a young lady named Sofia."

Hogan forbore explaining to Wagner just who Sofia really was - he figured that would do nothing for Wagner's peace of mind. Instead, he said, "Fiddling with the books, huh? Why, that's grounds for..."

A smile slowly spread across his face.

"Grounds for what, sir?"

Hogan savored the word. "Blackmail."

...

It really worked out quite beautifully in the end. Wagner, armed with the ledger, threatened to reveal Klink's misuse of camp funds to Burkhalter. Panicked, Klink sought out Hogan for advice. Hogan then offered to produce the missing seven from Stalag 5 for Major Strauss to capture, as an inducement for Major Strauss to keep quiet about the camp funds.

The Stalag 5 seven were taken out through the emergency tunnel and dutifully surrendered themselves at the front gate. Shortly afterwards, the eight newly arrived downed fliers (now dressed as Luftwaffe guards), drove into the compound, purportedly sent by General Burkhalter to collect the recently recaptured seven from Stalag 5.

Major Strauss insisted on accompanying the guards and recaptured prisoners to Stalag 5, and the truck left the gates of Stalag 13 with no one the wiser that all aboard were actually heading for the coast and a Royal Navy sub.

Hogan figured that Wagner would be back at his nice, safe, boring job in London before he knew it.

...

A few days later, after discovering that the lovely Sofia was meeting with Klink that evening, Hogan decided he needed to let her know that it was time to end her assignment. He knocked on the door of Klink's quarters and after Klink told him to come in, he entered and found Fräulein Fenster sipping champagne and Klink pouring out a glass for himself. Klink introduced her as _Fräulein_ Sofia Lindemann, and Hogan politely acknowledged the introduction while Lila kept her eyes demurely lowered.

Hogan deftly poured himself a glass of champagne and asked casually, "Heard from Major Strauss?"

"Not him," replied Klink. "General Burkhalter called me."

Hogan's brows rose. "New developments?"

Klink was indignant. "Major Strauss has disappeared, _with_ his seven prisoners, _and _the escort sent by General Burkhalter!"

"That _is _a development," said Hogan.

"He has obviously deserted!" Klink helped himself to some caviar. "Hogan, you told me I would never hear from him again, and you were right."

A commotion and shots in the compound interrupted, and Klink had to excuse himself.

Hogan set his champagne glass down. "When the boys create a diversion, they don't fool around. He'll be gone at least two hours."

He walked across the room and seated himself beside Lila on the sofa. She was a pretty girl, and Hogan couldn't resist putting his arm around her and giving her a teasing kiss. She allowed this only briefly before pushing him away.

"Colonel, you know that my affections are engaged elsewhere. And I am afraid I have nothing to report."

Hogan sat up straight and got serious. "I understand. And you can consider your assignment over as of now, _Fräulein_ Fenster. We kinda figured Klink didn't have much information to leak, but it was worth a try. And all that champagne and caviar did actually help in the long run."

"Did it? I am glad." She wrinkled her nose as she rose from the sofa and smoothed her skirt. "I did not mind the champagne, but I detest caviar! I will be very happy never to eat it again."

Hogan grinned a little ruefully. The lovely Lila was intelligent, courageous, and loyal too. Now that he thought about it, Wagner was one lucky guy.

...

But had Wagner gone back to England for good?


	7. Captain Metzler

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

Wagner's final visit to Stalag 13!

Missing scenes from "The Experts". Included are some lines of dialogue from the episode.

* * *

><p>It had started out as such a nice evening, too.<p>

There we were, in the most romantic situation you can imagine: cozily ensconced on soft cushions, deep shadows enfolding us...and sounds of a car approaching from right outside.

Damn!

I gently set Hilda aside and sat up, cautiously peering through the curtains of the rear window of Kommandant Klink's staff car.

Hilda was all for continuing our _tête-à-tête_, but I had spotted Gestapo officers climbing out of the newly arrived staff car, and it was definitely time to leave. I gave her a quick farewell kiss and slunk out of Klink's car, carefully easing the door closed.

Back in Barracks 2, I had Newkirk set up the coffee-pot tap and we listened in to the conversation in Klink's quarters, which had just been invaded by the Gestapo_. _We found out that the bad guys were looking for two of Klink's recently assigned staff: Sergeant Holtz, one of the guards, and Captain Metzler, the new adjutant.

Well, any intrusion on my turf by the Gestapo warrants an investigation, even if it just involves a dispute among the Krauts. So after Klink's unwanted guests left his quarters, I decided to use the water barrel periscope to see if I could spot any further activity by the Gestapo. They were active, all right; unfortunately, they located Sergeant Holtz easily enough. And they gunned him down, right there in the compound.

I turned away from the periscope, and said blankly, "They shot him - Holtz!"

There was a stunned silence for a moment. Then Newkirk spoke for all of us, with just one word:

"Why?"

And I didn't have an answer.

...

After a nearly sleepless night wondering about the senseless slaughter of Sergeant Holtz, I dragged myself off my bunk in time for roll call. As soon as we were dismissed, I hurried after the Kommandant and semi-respectfully requested an audience with him.

I was a bit startled to see how highly nervous Klink was when I asked about the gunshots of the night before. Apparently he had decided to adopt Schultz's "I see nothing! I know nothing!" creed as a way to deal with the situation. In any case, I got zip out of him.

Since I wasn't able to get any information about the demise of Sergeant Holtz from Klink, I decided to have the guys delve into Holtz's and Metzler's personnel files to see if their backgrounds could shed any light on the subject. We hadn't even met this Metzler character yet: Klink had granted him a week's leave the minute he had arrived at Stalag 13. Not that there was anything remarkable about that; it seemed like Klink's adjutants were always on leave.

With their usual skill in misdirection and outright larceny, Carter and LeBeau managed to bring back the files from the Kommandantur and Baker photographed them.

"Uh, Colonel, you might want to take a look at this," Baker said, handing me the developed pictures. I scanned the text quickly, but the identification photos were what caught my eye. Holtz's picture was unremarkable, but Metzler's was all too familiar.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said, turning an accusing eye on Baker, who shrugged.

"Sorry, Colonel. So that's who I think it is?"

I sighed. "Yeah. The gray hair and mustache are gone, but it's Wagner all right. But why on earth has he turned up again?"

"Looks like his career took a downward turn," Baker chuckled. "Major Strauss the Kommandant is now Captain Metzler the adjutant."

"Soon to be the _late_ Captain Metzler if we don't figure out why the Gestapo are after him," I said. "Time for a conference."

So Captain Metzler was also our old friend and all-round-pain-in-the-neck OSS agent Richard Wagner. I should have known, I told myself as I climbed the bunk ladder. Life at Stalag 13 had been far too peaceful lately.

Wagner was one of those people who turn up when you least expect them. And when he did, we usually had to bail him out of whatever trouble he was in. Not that he was stupid; he wasn't. It's just that things happened to him that never seem to happen to normal people. And to tell you the truth, we were kinda fond of the big lug, so his current predicament had me worried.

I took the photocopies of the files up top with me, and before I gathered the guys together, I decided to take the copies over to the infirmary to get Kinch's input.

Kinch had been laid up with a broken ankle for a couple of weeks, and to say my visit was a welcome break in his boring day is putting it mildly. He tossed aside the book he'd been reading and greeted me with enthusiasm.

"Have you got something - _anything -_ for me to work on, Colonel?"

"Yeah," I said. "Take a look at this." I handed him the copy of Metzler's ID picture from his personnel file.

Kinch took it, glanced at it, and then closed his eyes briefly. I think maybe he was saying a prayer.

Then he opened his eyes and looked at me. "You have got to be kidding me."

"My words exactly."

"Why have you got a picture of Wagner, sir? What's he done this time?"

"Believe it or not, that's the ID picture from the personnel file of Captain Metzler, Klink's new adjutant," I said.

Kinch looked at the picture again and frowned thoughtfully. "I must say, sir, I don't think much of whoever handles this sort of thing for the OSS. Any one of our guys could produce a better photo ID than this. The Krauts' IDs are always taken in uniform, and Wagner's wearing an open-necked shirt, no coat or tie. And he's smiling, for Pete's sake. Have you ever seen a soldier smile for the camera?"

"Can't say I have. But Wagner has a bigger problem than just a lousy photo ID. The other guy who was assigned to camp as the same time as Wagner was executed by the Gestapo last night, and I figure Wagner's next."

"I heard the gunfire, and Scotty told me what happened to Holtz." Kinch handed me back the picture and then settled his casted foot more comfortably. "You're probably right about Wagner. I wish I could help you rescue the poor guy."

At my look of surprise, he added, "Well, you don't have a choice, do you, sir? Leaving him to face the Gestapo alone would be like...like tossing a puppy into a den of rattlesnakes."

I couldn't have put it better myself.

...

After I left Kinch I met with Baker, Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter outside the barracks, and we all gathered around one of the steel drums that had a warming fire going inside it. I wanted to discuss what the personnel files had revealed: apparently both Holtz and Metzler were radio experts and assigned to the same communications battalion in Berlin prior to their transfer to Stalag 13.

But why were the Gestapo after Holtz and Metzler? As LeBeau pointed out, Holtz was in no condition to give us any answers, and that left the absent Metzler.

And as it turned out, Wagner had probably escaped execution only by virtue of being on leave. But he was due back in three days' time and I knew we had to do something. Whatever he was working on, it had to be big, and if we didn't find him first, the Gestapo would ensure that this mission of Wagner's would be his last.

"Wagner obviously doesn't want to be found, even by us," I mused. I thought about the details of Metzler's life on the photocopy of his records, which I now crumpled and dropped into the fire. "Now, what would Wagner do as Captain Metzler? Metzler's a bachelor, he's on leave, no place to go probably. Where are the nearest girls?"

"Heck," Carter grinned, "they're everywhere! But Wagner has a girl, sir. Maybe he went to find _Fräulein_ Fenster."

"Andrew," Newkirk said with exaggerated patience, "The lovely Lila is no longer with us, remember?"

"I know that!" Carter was indignant. "But I bet Wagner doesn't know it."

"Forget it," I said. "I can't see Wagner knowingly putting Lila in danger. He wouldn't seek her out."

"Plenty of other birds out there," Newkirk opined. "There's no shortage of birds in 'ammelburg!"

"Really, Newkirk. And how would you know?" I demanded. "You been sneaking out through the emergency tunnel?"

Well, the conversation went downhill from there. But I figured that our best course would be to enlist the aid of the underground to find the elusive Wagner. Baker contacted them by radio, and later that night I met with one of their agents, although I was careful to maintain Wagner's cover when describing Captain Metzler to the pretty, but businesslike, Luisa.

True to her word, Luisa and her underground friends located Captain Metzler in Hammelburg, holed up in a luxurious apartment with a lady friend, and I decided to pay him a little visit.

Newkirk chuckled as he and I dressed in civilian clothes preparatory to meeting Luisa for the confrontation with Captain Metzler.

"So 'e found 'imself another bird already, 'as 'e? Never thought Wagner 'ad it in 'im, upon my word!"

I had to agree, but I said, "Never thought he'd be mixed up in something so serious, either. Still, can't let the Gestapo get him, can we? I'm not sure what we'll be dealing with here; this lady friend is definitely an unknown quantity, and we don't want to blow his cover. My best bet will be to go in acting tough, and pretend Wagner's really Captain Metzler. I'll have to play it by ear after that."

Ah, hell, I'll admit it. I was just itching for an excuse to play the tough guy. I had a trench coat and everything.

Newkirk finished tying his tie and admired himself in the cracked mirror. I must say he cleaned up well in a suit and tie; he looked quite the well-dressed young man, in fact. My suspicion was this was all for Luisa's benefit, and who was I to argue with that? She was definitely one of the more comely underground agents we had worked with. Newkirk then donned an overcoat wth a thick fur collar and the transformation was complete. Although that collar looked a lot like a fur stole I had seen Frau Newkirkberger wearing...

...

At the luxurious apartment at 14 Gardenstrasse, I stood outside in the hall and turned up the collar of my trench coat for the appropriate quasi-gangster look. Too bad the trench coat wasn't black; it didn't really go with the image I was going for, but what could I do? There was a war on, you know.

I put my shoulder to the door and burst in, startling Wagner and a rather beauteous blonde young lady seated on the sofa. Wagner was surprised to see me, that was obvious, and he didn't seemed particularly pleased; in fact, he told me he could have me arrested and shot as a spy!

Well, that let me know that the blonde wasn't onto his real identity, but I just didn't get what his angle was. He clung to his cover as Captain Metzler, and refused to divulge any information, even though he was obviously unnerved by the news of Sergeant Holtz's death.

The lovely Maria herself proved to be rather nasty and uncooperative, so I decided to try another tack. Wagner didn't seem to be getting the message that his life was in danger, and whatever he was mixed up in, he wasn't talking, so I let him know I was serious. I spilled the beans about our operation in front of the blonde.

This was taking a risk, of course, but I needed to get both of them out of that apartment willingly and without a fuss. It helped that Newkirk and Luisa showed up just then, anxious about a photo being distributed around the neighborhood by the Gestapo. Luisa showed it to me - it was a copy of the same lousy photo that Baker had shown me - and I gave it to Wagner.

Wagner took one look at the photograph and sat down on the sofa with a thump. "It is a copy of the photograph from my personnel file," he said, and I felt we were finally getting somewhere.

But we had to move out; it was only a matter of time before the Gestapo tracked Wagner down to this apartment. Wagner agreed readily enough, but Baby Doll refused to go. I saw alarm in Wagner's eyes over this, but since Maria now knew about our operation we couldn't let her out of our sight, so I got tough again and insisted Maria go with us.

The look of relief on Wagner's face told me I was on the right track, but I wasn't sure why he wanted the girl with him so badly; his attitude toward her was anything but loverlike.

Luisa took us to a safe house and I thought maybe I could get Wagner to see reason there. To my surprise, though, he got stubborn and demanded proof that I could get in touch with England before he would believe our claim that he and Maria could be transported safely there.

I was puzzled and more than a little annoyed, but hopefully Wagner knew what he was doing. I agreed to his demand, and, leaving Newkirk standing guard over Wagner and Maria, left for Stalag 13 with Luisa in tow.

Two days and a parachute drop from London later, I was back at the safe house with the proof Wagner had demanded.

It wasn't easy to cover for Newkirk's absence in the meantime, of course; it involved Garlotti, Goldman and Addison playing the name game again. Goldman was Garlotti, Garlotti was Abrams, and Addison was Goldman, and Newkirk's name wasn't on Schultz's clipboard at all. I couldn't keep track of them myself after awhile, and poor Schultz had no idea who was who lined up for roll call. But he could see that fifteen men were present, and that was good enough for him.

Anyway, once Wagner saw the newspaper London had sent us, he was willing to give me information that could shed some light on why the Gestapo was after him. When I insisted we return to Stalag 13, though, this threw him into an absolute panic. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why; Stalag 13 was his home away from home, after all. He - and Baby Doll - would be safe there, and he could probably navigate the route from Stalag 13 to England blindfolded by now.

But out of the corner of my eye I saw Maria's lips curl upward in a secret little smile, and I had a feeling there was no time to waste getting these two to Stalag 13. With a tilt of my chin I let Newkirk know to keep his gun on the blonde, and I walked up to the quaking Wagner. I took a deep breath, and allowed my inner James Cagney to surface.

"Look, you've been calling the shots, now it's _my _turn," I growled. "You go to England my way," and I pointed my gun right at his head, "or you die my way!"

Let's just say I convinced him.

...

Not long afterwards Newkirk, Wagner, and Maria arrived at Stalag 13, courtesy of Oskar Schnitzer's dog truck. I had gone ahead so I was there to distract Schultz while Newkirk got Wagner and Maria into the tunnels via the doghouse entrance.

I soon shook off Schultz and high-tailed it to the tunnels myself, and I found a great deal of activity going on as the guys went into high gear to get Wagner and Maria ready for the escape route to England.

I kept my eye on the unpleasant Maria as she consented to having her photo taken for her new identity papers, but what happened next still caught me by surprise.

She had been in the thick of the activity, with Carter and LeBeau bustling around her, but as soon as she moved away from them she was literally swept off her feet by Wagner. We all stared as he held her with one arm, her feet dangling off the floor and her arms pinned down. He pulled her handbag away with his free hand and held it out to Newkirk.

"She has a gun in there," he told him. "Colonel, she will need to be restrained - Maria is a Gestapo informant."

A furious flow of German profanity issued from Maria's lovely lips, and Carter was shocked.

"Gee, is that any way for a lady to talk?"

"She's no lady, Carter," I said, unsurprised. "Baker, LeBeau, take her to the tunnel under Barracks 4. And tie her up."

Now that Maria was out of the way, Wagner heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm so sorry, Colonel. I really didn't want to bring her here."

Carter and Newkirk both tried to speak, but I waved them down. "What's the story with the dame, Wagner?"

He rubbed one hand over his face wearily, and I had the feeling that his so-called leave hadn't been too restful for him.

"I met her at the Hauserhof. She knew I was the new adjutant at Stalag 13 - that was no secret, of course - and she, well, she was very, very friendly. I told her that I was already attached to someone, and then she told me...she told me that Lila had been taken away by the Gestapo, and that they were probably after me too. She offered to conceal me."

It took an effort to keep myself from rolling my eyes. This guy was just too naïve to be out on his own.

"And so you went to her apartment."

He nodded, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. "I did not much care what I did."

"It never occurred to you that she might be lying?"

"Not at first...I realized later that she must be a Gestapo informant and I thought maybe that was how she knew Lila had been taken." Wagner slowly raised his head, eyes wide with dawning hope. "But you mean..."

"Who mentioned Lila's name first, you or Baby Doll?"

"I...I don't remember. I suppose I did."

I sighed. "I thought so - she played you for a sucker, Wagner. It's true that the Gestapo were getting a little too close, so _Fräulein_ Fenster was shipped off to England three weeks ago. I understand she's working for the OSS now, at some nice, safe, boring desk job."

For a horrified moment I thought Wagner was going to kiss me. But he contented himself by wringing my hand, with tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Colonel, Colonel! You don't know what this means to me."

"I've got a pretty good idea," I said, retrieving my hand with some difficulty. "So you want to tell me what you've been up to this time?"

"Yes, of course." Wagner drew the back of his hand across his eyes. "I had been assigned to facilitate the defection of Captain Metzler. I was to debrief him first, in case of accidents, and then see to it that he got to England."

"What happened?"

"He gave me the information on the communications center installation, but the next day he was gone. He left me a message, though; apparently he decided going to Switzerland was safer than going to England. I think the fact he had just found out about Sergeant Krebbs being shot, and that he himself was being reassigned to Stalag 13 had something to do with it."

"So you went to Stalag 13 in his place? Why on earth..."

Wagner sighed. "My superiors ordered it, when I reported his disappearance. I think they were trying to buy some time before Metzler's absence was discovered."

"And when you got to Stalag 13..."

"I found out that Sergeant Holtz had been reassigned there as well. I knew Holtz had been working closely with Metzler along with Krebbs, and would know me right away as an impostor. Klink hadn't recognized me, of course - he never does - but I would be exposed as soon as Holtz showed up. So I told Klink my grandmother had died and he granted me leave."

He shoved both hands through his hair. "I met Maria at the Hauserhof, and then took refuge at her apartment. But by the next day, something she said made me realize that she was trying to get information about what goes on at Stalag 13. I thought my best plan was to continue to pose as Captain Metzler, and pretend ignorance of why the Gestapo might be after me."

Wagner looked at me apologetically. "And then you burst in! I didn't want to reveal you to Maria, so I kept up the Metzler pretence. I just wanted you to go away; I didn't want you to risk your life and your operation because of the mess I was in. But you were persistent, so I decided to give you a task you couldn't possibly complete, and I thought this would make Maria believe you were not what you claimed to be, and that the operation you spoke of was pure fantasy."

A little nettled, I said, "But you were wrong, weren't you? We got the ad in the _London Times_ and the paper delivered within forty-eight hours."

"Yes."

"So you were trying to protect us? You were going to try to take care of Maria on your own?"

"Yes. I didn't want her anywhere near Stalag 13, of course."

"You _do_ realize we were the ones with the guns."

"How could I not, when you put one to my head? That was when I realized there was no getting rid of you. But Maria had a gun, too," he pointed out. "And I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I finally came to the conclusion that once Maria was in the tunnels you would know what to do with her."

"Well, you got that part right, at least," I grumbled. "But how did you fall for her line in the first place? Never mind, I can picture it...you had no place to go, and here was this pretty _Fräulein_ you met by chance..."

Wagner flushed. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I guess I'm really not cut out for espionage."

"You think?"

"It's just that she seemed so sympathetic and helpful at first..." his voice trailed off. He looked at Newkirk and then back to me. "You fellows would never fall for a pretty face, I know."

Newkirk and I exchanged guilty glances, and then I said uncomfortably, "Well, nobody's perfect. The important thing is that you have the information Metzler gave you. Where is it?"

Wagner tapped his temple significantly. "It's all up here. That's why I dared not remain at Stalag 13 and risk exposure as an impostor."

...

The next few hours were busy ones as LeBeau prepared papers and travel permits, Carter photographed, and Newkirk fitted Wagner with civilian clothing while I debriefed him. Baker had to work hard to transcribe the information that Wagner delivered swiftly and at great length.

Even as I asked the necessary questions, I was amazed at Wagner's powers of recall. I reflected that the OSS, although not a military organization, certainly had the military propensity for putting square pegs in round holes. Wagner was obviously suited for desk work requiring close attention to technical details, so naturally this trusting soul, who went from one near-disaster to the next, was assigned to undercover work instead. Go figure.

Wagner paused once in his monologue and looked down at Newkirk's handiwork. "It is a lovely fit," he said admiringly, fingering the jacket he had just put on.

And Newkirk beamed; not too many guys appreciated his fine tailoring, unfortunately. He might even have been blushing a bit, but he said gruffly, "It bloody well should fit, mate! You've been our most frequent customer, you 'ave."

Which of course was perfectly true, and pretty much summed up our experiences with Wagner.

...

Eventually, Wagner had said everything he needed to say, and he stood before us, clad in a sober civilian suit, hat in hand.

"Thank you, Colonel Hogan. I'm sorry I made it so difficult for you to rescue me - again."

"Don't worry about it, Wagner, that's what we do," I said. "Give our regards to _Fräulein_ Fenster."

He smiled then; the first unguarded, untroubled smile I had ever seen from him. "I will."

He shook hands all around, and then we watched as Wagner and Maria, who was still under guard, ascended the ladder to the tree stump exit.

"Think he'll be back, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"Nope," I said confidently. "Not with Lila waiting for him in London."

Newkirk tilted his head, considering this, and then grinned. "With a bird like that, I should think 'e'll stay put."

"Yep." I thought about it for a minute, and then I announced, "Men, this is the end of an era."

"_C'est vrai!" _LeBeau agreed. "No longer will we be waiting for Wagner's next visit."

Baker sighed. "You can say that again. You know, I'm glad he's heading off to England for good. The guy has more lives than a cat, but let's face it, he's a walking disaster area. "

Newkirk nodded. "Too true, mate. I know 'e means well, but..."

"I think I'm going to miss him," said Carter.

I thought about all of our encounters with the well-meaning but hopelessly trouble-prone Wagner. But what the hell...he really was a nice guy, after all.

And I had to smile. "Me too."


End file.
